1933-2008 1963-2020 You’ve left home father and brother, earlier than expected with nothing to pack. I grab my faded cap, a companion for lost thoughts, dew brushes limbs down the overgrown track. You’re like two soft sanded soles, that dance down drifted dunes, breezing into view your lean abled faces, my ocean surges filling empty embraces. We head up to the pier, once well-trodden shores, reflections splash out to the sounds of our old stereo and backyard cricket roars. Out on the waves surfers in dark suits and hoods appear like reapers shredding glass, the tide turns a hasty retreat, agitated gulls screech past. A huge set barrels in parting our ways, once again you are mariners amidst the mist hidden swells. One last glimpse sculptured like a portrait to take, back home up the dry path ticking off another day since the last wake.
go pūkeko 