Memory lies like a November sunset
Gilt flung to spangles by breeze from a flame patch of sun-swept gorse.
Memory twists in the wake of a mallard
To broaden and slap on the banks of an unwilling consciousness.
Memory sways in the twinkle of willows
To touch at a life-stream and dance back to sip again.
Memory sighs in the sad wind through toi-toi
Golden to gauze in the late-river sunset,
Brittle and cold in the future dark.
Memory sings in the lilt of the shingle
Sings like a voice in the dusty manuka.
Memory sings in the spill of her glance.