Diamonds of shattered glass sparkle in sunlight,
Grey cobbles contain a memory of past violence,
Was it blood and bone remnants of a car crash,
Or a ***** toast, of a long night of celebration?
Evidence of these past events a glass memory of
Unrecorded pictures, as my feet crunch through,
A brittle history of a Saturday night in Auckland.

~

Sitting out in the backyard
far from the glow of the city
in one of two lawn chairs
positioned facing east,
I gaze upon the rising moon,
watching in silence as it climbs
above a slowly fading horizon

And I think to myself…
this bright shining orb, is it lonely
sitting there all by itself
in the vast turquoise heavens
perhaps hoping for a beautiful star
to join it on a warm
August evening like this

When I see one appear,
a glistening gemstone,
dazzling in illumined brilliance
just to its right and I wonder
as I look to the empty seat
just to my right, is the moon maybe
*thinking the same thing about me

I'm a person just like you

Although you may not see what I go through

That makes me no less human than you .

I dive and I sigh
where the sea meets the sky,
in the horizon reflected
on the surface of her eyes.

We're carried away by
a tepid receding tide
of the memories tied
to this time and place.

She fades.

The moon calls me,
whispers my name
into the vapid night,
I eventually came.

Yet it's never been the same,
basking in that forgotten light
illuminating my opaque pain,
it's just not right.