echo
reading Yunna Morits
I am going away to a land of myself
where in the woods I may bury me
and rest through winter, at least
so long, and perhaps like a crocus
I will rise. And you, disembarking from the train
and asking a young boy how to find
the forest, will reach me there.
You will kneel down reluctantly
to sit in the damp grass beneath
the trees and the starlings on their way
to somewhere else and you
will notice a tinge of purple
on white; it will be me
but you won't pick the flower
thinking it's too early. You'll go back
to the village to drink brandy and relax
believing you have seen the place.
In the meantime I will put forth
another shoot and tomorrow
a blue dog lies beside me,
sniffing and scratching.
Leave me for the porters,
the carrying of cases and delighted lunches!
I have reached the woods.
Second Place
Owen Bullock
Waihi
