new zealand electronic poetry centre


Bill Manhire

online works


Under an eyelash
under a stone
but no he lived
under her fingernail.
He was the silent moon.

So much foliage
crammed inside the bride!
He was the silent moon.
In Spring the husband
was dark in every language.

And so on and so on.
And soon the skeleton
was biting its way through the badlands
to where she sat on the floor
reviving her bicycle.

The song when it came
was light left in the radio;
it started up like a car
about to enter a river 
and then it was over.

ęBill Manhire

Last updated 11 July, 2001