kawau
i still don’t know which one you were
manuka or kanuka, identical to look at
one sharp one soft to touch.
though my hands measured the
warm air above your chest
out in the pale green hills
of puhoi.
where you made fish swim
up ladders
the silver grasses
parting in waves
as we surged through.
you in your white houses
the water
wrapped around the bay.
are you the sea on valentines night
the milky way a plate with us on a boat
served in the centre?
are you the fear i felt
bashed against the black waves
till i am a wet child again crying?
are you crossing the whole planet
mapping out its sections
seeing everything beneath
all the way down?
you know where the hidden icebergs go before they
appear in the morning.
you found the sailor thrown overboard clinging on to
his red boots in the freezing waters.
you took him home again.
you made gates with no roads coming.
green glades and wetlands,
dead birds and broken reeds.
you told me your stories
and pushed me on the rope swing
so my dress flew out from my legs
a sail of silk flowers.
i will never know which one you were but every
action is left in memory.
the sweet scent of kanuka oiling my hands.
the sharp sting of manuka slicing my palms.