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The Taps
of
the old government house
don't match
the scenery
sticks to the palate,
porcelain cake
iced,
'refreshments'
&
cat piss perfumes
a chicago architect's
mock gothic modernism
in the flat above mine
someone seems
to jump
in high canvas
ankle-wrap sneakers,
is it
jesmyn, edwidge, dwyer -
some american name
like that?
~
downstairs
Queen Sālote of Tonga
lying like a solemn hologram
'in state'
in the ballroom
under glowing clusters
of white and golden ball chandeliers
~
saturday morning,
in need of a spell,
at the polynesian markets
the faito'o says
her ceramic charms don't work
if only she could
crank up
the faux-greenstone wealth one
~
the depot faces the skytower,
each oyster holds the sea
until swallowed
there is a small gift -
'Len Lye, The New Yorker'
a brief monograph, visibly stitched,
not looking
too 'booklike'
thanks wystan
~
te kōti -
19th century māori leader,
appliqued, stylised in red & black,
on a polyester flag
hanging from a honey-coloured wall
that smells like vetiver grass
~
just after dusk
a small brown owl,
a ruru,
sits on a railing just outside the boatshed,
expert in stealth
hunting moths
then fffff fffff
gone like a ghost
before midnight
a downburst rocks the bure -
doors flap & bang,
sideways lightning, crazy winds,
trees sever & crash,
clinging to the day bed,
shaking in a blackout
~
ecological circuits
rewired on lava crops,
as water & shade
does for fern & fauna.
taking an upper deck return
across the choppy crater,
through bird wheel
& ferry diesel
the tide recedes
faito'o - traditional Tongan herbalist
Te Kōti - appears on a flag made by the late NZ poet-artist Leigh Davis
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