New verse by Wellington poet Tim Grgec.

 

Fergusson Park, Matua

 

Her feet make

soft, temporary marks

in the sand

like yours used to.

 

The woman in front of me.

The wind blowing

against her brightly

coloured hat.

 

Fishermen launch gently

from the boat ramp.

She looks towards

the identical lines of trees

 

on Matakana Island,

each one tall

against the paled sky.

The same view you looked at.

 

I feel sick

from the smell of seaweed

drying not quite green;

the tide coming in

 

slower than it should.

Or is it because

I’m following

a woman down the beach?

 

As if she could be you.

Too scared to look,

too scared to walk

any faster.