before we disappear
under the weight of the tide we will
have been a wounded season
a memory, a story told and forgotten
before we disappear
under the weight of the tide we will
have been a wounded season
a memory, a story told and forgotten
We will speak in this hour,
in a kind of weary sun,
the words will come
and they then will fall silent.
A breath at a time.
By chance
I happened to be there at the moment
when the mountain had just sheltered itself under wadded clouds
and the sky had separated itself from the sea,
although in the same shade of blue
photo : near Tata beach, New Zealand, South Island
to the delicate lines of the clouds at the bottom
of the horizon
will added
the sound of the tide
Tired
withdrawing from shore
then the expectations of the day
will be filled
in Marahau
The light was shining
through the bottom of the marshes
at all time of the day
Magical colours of
the curves
all around