You may never know
Until you let go
Whether there's
Something else
To hold on to

You may never know
Until you let go
Whether there's
Something else
To hold on to

Summer solstice and the air is swimming with insects
Rays scoop down to bathe kangaroo grass heads golden
Swaying on waves of breeze surfing on treetops
To break the back of the working week is to finish at midday on Friday
Roll down to the bay with windows down and radio blaring
The kissed sound of a tinnie opening
Smacked on lips evokes guttural sighs and closed eyes smiles all around me
She was brazen as one of the locals
Sandy haired and sun kissed freckled skin chilled as southern air embraces her
First one in heckling others to obey her invitation
Then she'd disappear under the waves to shed her worries
No one ever looked at her sideways

On the spectrum from belief
To nilpotent
I may be strung along
Like a row of pearls
When lightning strikes
The heart of her
She ignites
Fuels her desire
My sweet exterior melts
Reduced to a puddle
To mirror her exuberance
To the sky
Till she hides under blanket
For the night

My youngest was born
On your birthday
All those years ago
He is kind, wise and generous
Born under the same sign
I'd lost memories like quicksand
Till I saw you, resurrected
Now I have dreams to protect you
From prying lips and eyes
All hours I spent
Watching, wondering
Which words would suffice to say
Now I clumsily write them down
In hope for brighter days
I left the lap of nature
For a piece on heritage street
Left behind a part of me
I am yet to retrieve
I long to nurture another
Tending to their wounds
Catching any words that fall
Just like you did for me

Astounding
How I shed my dreams
To please them

If the push pull
Of love seems tough
Remember how to keep
Your heart tender
Recall the one lost
Push back her hair
Hold her cheek
Listen to her speak
Let her words seep
Into the cracks
Unkempt skin
Grown thick
Only to peel away
Layers of regret
Reveal a fine form
Of kind understanding

Shall I harbour
All my feelings
Over a week or two
Or brave the unknown
Weather or not
Of spending time
With you?

If you ever loved
Someone and gave
All you could
Let them go
Remember that
The seeds
Turn into fruit

If I could ask just one thing
Of a girl's best mate
How to be in love
And never speak its name?
How to hold it in
For short hours soon to end
Only to explode
Smiles and tears on journey's end
How to read a book
Admire a view
When next to them?
Eyes like infrared
Tracing everywhere she went
If this secret she relays
Would keep me in this band
To spend another five, ten years
Waiting for her hand

At four o’clock, conscious of his throbbing heart, Levin stepped out of a hired sledge at the Zoological Gardens, and turned along the path to the frozen mounds and the skating ground, knowing that he would certainly find her there…
It was a bright, frosty day. Rows of carriages, sledges, drivers, and policemen were standing in the approach. Crowds of well-dressed people, with hats bright in the sun, swarmed about the entrance and along the well-swept little paths between the little houses adorned with carving in the Russian style. The old curly birches of the gardens, all their twigs laden with snow, looked as though freshly decked in sacred vestments.
He walked along the path towards the skating-ground, and kept saying to himself—“You mustn’t be excited, you must be calm. What’s the matter with you? What do you want? Be quiet, stupid,” he conjured his heart. And the more he tried to compose himself, the more breathless he found himself… He walked on a few steps, and the skating-ground lay open before his eyes, and at once, amidst all the skaters, he knew her.
He knew she was there by the rapture and the terror that seized on his heart… There was apparently nothing striking either in her dress or her attitude. But for Levin she was as easy to find in that crowd as a rose among nettles. Everything was made bright by her. She was the smile that shed light on all round her. “Is it possible I can go over there on the ice, go up to her?” he thought. The place where she stood seemed to him a holy shrine, unapproachable, and there was one moment when he was almost retreating, so overwhelmed was he with terror. He had to make an effort to master himself, and to remind himself that people of all sorts were moving about her, and that he too might come there to skate. He walked down, for a long while avoiding looking at her as at the sun, but seeing her, as one does the sun, without looking.
‘Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, chapter 9.’
