Ancient ones watch unseen
I never see them but others do.
They take them to be spirits that protect
and wonder that I can’t see them
when to them they’re so clear.
Uncle Neville comes to stay
‘there’s an old man watching outside your door.’
Later an old woman is listening to my poetry
as I stand in New Zealand before Maori women’s writing group
as their guest
Are they my bubus or are they more ancient still?
Where do they come from to remain unseen?
Do I feel their breath whenever I sing
calling to me
words to unpack the unknown?
Ancient ones form
invisible threads of light
stitch the bird song
the stars and insight.
(c) June Perkins, words and image