Somebody else’s eyes on Opoutere beach

pine needle sting is spent dried soft under charred hard soles from black-tarred, red hot, white sands The warmth has slowed my blood right down to a 3 and 1/2hr French art house movie pace with no dialogue, no subtitles, no subplot or subtext I’m not running the walk as usual: chasing at the metal rabbit, racing to keep up with others’ expectations This time, I sip at it deliberately All senses lean back into a hammock torso – formerly overworked, overtime, They’ve hung up their safely goggles, hard hats and reflective vests. Just allowing now No need to write the review for any dead-line brick wall or future generation to find buried under piles of paper and leaden-shouldered stress savouring the taste of it Like an 18year old Isley single malt – sooty smoked Softly received into the body’s biochemistry Like trillions and trillions of tiny safes being cracked simultaneously With the secret code of appreciation Cigar connoisseured Delicately held in the mouth: the waves, the bird sanctuary, minnows dolphin-diving in the azure lagoon Drop some acid into your eyes Open up, dilate your description of colour for those of us who cannot see Please try to share aloud the diamond and silver crested surf that curls over as it folds-in from its deep pacific vastness What of the magnificent mosque doomed ceiling of an un-mined clear lapis lazuli sky? Thank you God for the imagined solitude here I’ll pretend That there is nothing man-made, or any men made in your likeness, here Momentarily perceiving myself as free of any hand to hold, distance to run, allocated time, specified speed or place to be See? I’ll stop smack dab in the middle of this track Without causing a pile up No backlog traffic jams or road rage’s overheated steam Not seeing but feeling believing and being Why don’t you be my eyes on Opoutere beach