Lavender mist blends field to hill
seabirds pick the grass for small critters.
Smoky heron elegant in beak
black-backed gulls, sharp in squawk.
Floodlamps pool the hollows of a skatepark
brighter than any star will be tonight

the birds don’t seem confused.

When they are done, they
fly purposefully across highway
where headlights shine in flickering beams
across bushes like an old movie projector.
They fly straight into salty tussock
where they will sleep.

I walk the hill by trees that shouldn’t be here
feel the magic of the moon yet to rise.

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.

I was on the train that day
snow on the roof of a yellow house
a garden bush, gone in an instant
gently whirring to its destination.
Not sadness, nor joy, I got the call
he was gone. Slipped away from
gurgling pain
into the great mystery
I don’t think it’s a bad place.

The tree in your garden is a big one
I pass it every day.
Even branches, full and very tall.
Right now it’s pregnant
with a portal into another world
red leaves so thick and dark
so fluorescent you’d think they were synthetic.
Soon to be brown and crisp, on the ground
then in it.
A last hurrah before departing to become
something else.