Why do you drive me out
of my mind with your complaints?
I was not there to catch you when you fell
nor to hear your last words.
I did not take that care of you
which you once, formally, requested.
I have not buried you properly:
your soul stands shivering on a wet bank.
I have not yet washed your underwear:
I have not straightened this drawer
nor written to that friend.
I have not read the book you gave me
nor tried to understand your work.
I have forgotten the thing you once told me.
Oh rest, perturbed spirit:
all shall be set straight at last
with precision and magnificence.
[CD, Wai-te-ata Press, 1984]
© The Estate of Iain Lonie 2004