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Publication details: Fergus Barrowman, March 1998, Wellington

Part of: Sport

Sport 20: Autumn 1998

page 114

At the beach I find small
memories to draw on
It can take months to
comb a piece so words

fall in place without
knots or kinks or little
flakes of skin

At eighteen I brushed
your hair in an untidy
room. It fell easily
bleached ivory
by the hard sun

Electricity caused
strands to float shining
fragrant towards my face

We sat in a pyramid
of light beside French doors
open to a garden of palms
passion fruit, paw-paw
your face turned
to the sound of waves