The wild waves slap the rocks like drunk husbands
Then roll back to gather strength.
The sky mirrors the dirty steel of the water
And peers down like a superior sibling.
Dividing it all is the wind
Punching, and pushing, and sweeping the coast.
It’s full of cold, refulgent with memory
It was here before all else,
Before the land
Before the sea
The wind was always whistling.
It told the Māori they were home
And scored their sad eviction.
It fights the airplanes as they land
And the ferries as they sail.
It is the wind that makes this place itself
Its soul, immortal breath.
And if if it left my God what then
Tis a thing of death.
As waters bounce and tumble
And clouds twist and roam,
The wind rolls on as it always has
So strong, so loud; alone.