What is on my mind,
I do not remember it,
Only the aching.
The rivers run dry,
As long as there is no rain,
It should rain sometimes.
The pathways are wet,
So what, let’s enjoy the mud,
And all the puddles.
I miss the seaside,
Not the beaches but the rocks,
Cliffs and mighty waves.
To feel their power,
To feel the wind blowing strong,
To just feel alive.
Our pasts do haunt us,
Of places and people there,
We used to know once.
At Maracas Bay,
Or the Florida beach head,
But give me Piha.
Expanses of black sand,
Hot to my feet, the waves tug,
Calling me out there.
Yes, the surf is up,
Those mighty beasts running tall,
Won’t take me under.
