Early Birds
I miss the best she says -
the evaporating mist, the
resulting sunshine smudging
hills, the church's spire
emerging, cornfield rousing.
She counts the bunnies
nibbling, the starlings' guzzling
dew, the blackbirds' dipping, a
tomtit pecking, the pheasant she
calls Sir Phillip and others who
pass through. I tunnel under
pillows, preferring brightness
at a normal time drying
rusty, corrugated roofs, the
ripening lemons, the white
throated tui's warble, frivolous
from the orange flax's nectar.
I dream a magic rainbow spans
my back door view, ripped by roaring
silver wings descending, blue sky
fading as seat belt signs flash
journey's end. Eyes soak up
glossy emerald pastures, wire
matchstick fences, dinky cars
share the tarmac as the tide
turns on the Tasman Sea . Pilots
announce the time: early,
temperature: a degree of fresh.
Blessed are the godwits's
drummer wings, echoes
of a southern spring.
RED ROSE
(Inspired by an old rosebush on Mangere Road)
The rose flaunts
optimism by
the grubby road.
The occupants
of the house
discreet,
windows
closed.
Cars pass,
belch carbon gas.
Hops and suckers
seldom pruned.
Thorns ruffle
red satin slips.
The rusty arch
leans, entangles
Rose.
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