These Mountains

These mountains streak red, gold and purple
in godly light
undulating curves
resting on her side
I want to eat them.
I want to sprint across the lake
feet slapping water
like the giant belly of
a speckled silver fish.
Run through the pale gold hair of tussock
fingers gathering cold dew
and paper cuts.
I want to dig my hands into rusty earth
tear out a hole
bury my face in
scream to Papatūānuku
I love you, I love you, I love you
not with my voice.