Staring at the sun as it rouges tundra,
you’re craning a head which laughter
has furnished with crags.
Songs erupt over you, gentle trills
from affection stored in reserve.
The result, oh yes, is nutritive fodder.
Lyrics assuage your forehead,
rimming the smiles you’ve gathered
for this night’s keep.
That’s how melodies lodge here;
as fuel to the warmth you’ve stashed.
Tunes ripen in a freezer, you canny thing.
The scars from tramping have run
to abysses of your mind at Ketetahi.
The moon’s rays lighten tussock,
lavishing scads of the heavens
from your thoughts all over a home
you like to call silence.
Fissures around you have deepened.
Gulls are trying to copy the strains
of taut nerves, a hell of a scream.
