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Blindside
Perhaps the wind picked up?
And then a deluge
fit for Noah’s vindication…
the rain beating down
heard but not seen
in the darkness…
I may as well have closed my eyes
and made the trip completely blind
across the gravel driveway
limping on the sides of my arches
into the stables
prickles in my feet
the din in there was awesome
a cacophy of rain on tin
as riotous and angry as I
that first day
at the gate you said:
oh no…
my buried wheel beside the barn
my 1800s mudbrick house
my garden and the line of tagasaste
my fishes pond
my sloping paddocks
stretching back away along the winter creek
my boomers lounging near the dam
my dead and fallen eucalypt beside the post and rail
her hushed abandoned secrets crumbling back into the loam
my midnight spot where impromptu cups of tea
delighted the copper horse
beneath a sliver of the southern moon
that first day
at the gate
you saw it all and said:
oh no…
and in that act
foretold the year
I may as well have closed my eyes
and made the trip completely blind
across the months into this night
limping on the sides of my arches
into the stables
prickles in my feet
you and this place
just two more things I couldn’t hold
passing through like the storm
leaving me battered
shouting at hay bales
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