We struggle with the discovery
of a filmless camera
tell ourselves to focus
on our path
well trodden by leaves
eaved green by fern
beech trees tiered
palms-up
on the mountain proper
we find Raku fired
from the kiln
of winter after winter
we polish these images
our autumned earth
uplifted and permafrosted
into dog-eared pages
horizons of ridge
upon ridge.
A tui looks into the mirror we filled last night
undoes itself with gusto, dries in the sun
mist from the lake burns off
ashes of Rereao's fire still warm the lake
it is said the sons of Tukino
were big men, often left-handed
handy with the pouwhenua
now no palisades remain
to point to Ngati Hotu
origins of the urukehu
they're all getting pale these days
on Tuwharetoa FM
they invite the Spice Girls
to sing in their studio
announce a benediction
at Tokaanu, a celebration of the Tiriti
Iwikau signed to have a bob each way.
Mananui made him return his red blanket
It was cold
down at the papakainga.