day the river stones fired for cooking by our father, our cousins and our uncles who laugh and sing. Working all as one. Our little brother's horse walks home with our little one asleep. Resting a head on his pony's neck, breathing in the warm horse stink knees locked into its sides. Fast asleep on the fired flesh of horse. And I ache. But not forever this. And so I go. —And when you go our brother as you say you must will you be warm. Will you know love. Will an old woman kiss your face and cry warm tears because of who you are. Will children take your hands and say your name? In your new life our brother will you sing? —The warmth and love I take from here with me and return for their renewal when I can. It is not a place of loving where I go or not the same as love that we have known. No love-fire there to warm one's self beside. No love warmth. Blood warmth. Wood and tree warmth. Skin on skin warmth. Tear warmth. Rain warmth. Earth warmth. Breath warmth. Child warmth. Warmth of sunned stones. Warmth of sunned water. Sunned sand. Sand ripple. Water ripple. Ripple sky. Sky Earth. Earthy Sky. And our beginning. —And you ask me shall I sing. I tell you this. The singing will be here within myself. Inside this body. Fluting through these bones. Ringing in the skies of being. Ribboning in the course of blood to soothe swelled limbs and ache-bruised heart. —You say to us our brother you will sing. But will the songs within be songs of joy? Will they ring. Out in the skies of being as you say. Pipe through bone caress flesh wounding? Or will the songs within be ones of sorrow? Of warmth dreams. Love dreams. Of aching. And flesh bruising? If you listen will it be weeping that you hear? Lament of people. Earth moan. Water sigh. Morepork cry of death? —My sisters and brothers, loved ones, I cannot tell. But there will be gladness for me in what I do. I ask no more. Some songs will be of joy and others hold the moan and sigh, the owl cry and throb of loneliness. —What will you do then our brother when the singing dirges through your veins, pressing and swelling in your throat and breast, pricking at your mind with its aching needles of sound? —What should I do but deny its needling and stealing into mind. Its pressing into throat and breast. I will not put a hand of comfort over body hardenings nor finger blistered veins in soothing. The wail, the lament shall not have my ear. I will pay the lonely body ache no mind. Thus I go. I stand before my dark-eyed mother, blue-eyed father, brothers and sisters, my aunts and uncles and their children and these old ones. All the dark-eyed light-eyed minglings of this place. We gather. We sing and dance together for my going. We laugh and cry. We touch. We mingle tears as blood. I give you my farewell. Now I stand on a tide-wet rock to farewell you sea. I listen and hear your great heart thud. I hear you cry. Do you too weep for me? Do you reach out with mottled hands to touch my brow and anoint my tear wet face with tears of salt? Do not weep but keep them well. Your great heart beats I know for such as these. Give them sea, your great sea love. Hold them gently. Already they are baptised in your name. As am I. And take your renewal where I go. And take your love. Take your strength. And deep heart thud. Your salt kiss. Your caring. Now on a crest of hill in sweeping wind.