The Pilot
I imagine myself as one of the Chrysalids
riding in panniers high on the giant horse,
lumbering and swaying through
a vast wasteland
full of distortions
and violent chameleons.
I hear excitable chatter in my head,
the sound of multitudes on another plane
calling me on…
I can’t yet see them
but they are there.
I feel them.
I know them without knowing.
I think of lush mountains,
hidden fortresses and temples
where the air is sweeter somehow
the silence overwhelming.
I think of the people who read the
language of oceans with their hands
trailing the viscous surface
from boats of tōtara wood
detecting infinitesimal alterations in waves
to find land.
I think of them in my loneliness
as I teeter somehow,
somewhere between the crevasse
and what I feel is joy ahead.
I am trying to be a whole person
I am trying to be a whole person
Trying to find land
Trying to find land
For Nanna Dabestani, who knows the movement of the waves
Siobhan Cawson-Mooney is our current Poet-in-Residence. Every now and then we find a voice that sings to us. Those voices that show us something new - voices from out there that somehow resonate deeply. Voices we just 'get'. When that happens we graciously ask that they join us for a time. To live and dream along with us.
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