Why Don’t You Talk to Me?

Why do I post my love letters

in a hollow log?

Why put my lips to a knothole in a tree

and whisper your name?


The spiders spread their nets

and catch the sun,

and by my foot in the dry grass

ants rebuild a broken city.

Butterflies pair in the wind,

and the yellow bee,

his holsters packed with bread,

rides the blue air like a drunken cowboy.


More and more I find myself

talking to the sea.

I am alone with my footsteps.

I watch the tide recede

and I am left with miles of shining sand.


Why don’t you talk to me?


By Alistair Te Ariki Campbell