Rangitoto In The Rain

 You watch my morning walk

impassively.

You have had your moment 

of devastating excitement

when hot lava poured from you

and you lost your head.

You have your story of pain

overgrown with lush nature

smothering your scars.

I have mine

hidden too.

Your story is woven in heritage.

Mine is just beginning to be told,

as I find fresh words to wrap around it.

We share something else significant.

We are both out in the morning rain.

Rangitoto and I

stare at each other.

A dark green cloak hides its brokenness.

Mine is covered by a black jacket.

It's peaceful stance belies its former raging

throwing ash and sulfur into the night sky.

So attention seeking.

I stare but it doesn't look away.

I think it likes me.

We are too far away to start a conversation

but I may visit again in time.

It has its own secrets,

but it looks into my soul and I feel I should explain.

I have been uprooted, shifted,

transplanted to a different plane of existence.

The short walk to the hospital

belies the significance of the treatment.

It seems so easy to lie down

under the machine's power

that does me good and harm simultaneously

I tell Rangitoto.

I touched Rangitoto some years back

my tourist footsteps journeyed without cultural understanding.

I saw its shape broken by the force 

of its own life leaving.

Life has these moments

when you want to break free 

from the rhythm of pre-ordained appointments

measured in minutes and radiation released.

Rangitoto understands me.

We are both broken but beauty will cover us.

Sunshine rays hit a little patch of blue

in front of the island.

They touch me too

as I spend time with Rangitoto in the rain.