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Kowhai Gold

[P. W. Robertson]

page 154

Invocation
Words dissolve in the blue,
Trees are my thoughts.
In the heart of the woodland is a time-old song,
Its refrain I have lost on my wandering.
I hear only a bird's call,
The mountain-sigh of the lake.
My mind runs down the glades, seeking
That song of long ago.

But in a dream is a trusting-place,
Deeper than the heart of the woodland,
Over the rim of time-worn time,
Come to me there through the swift trees,
On your lips the rhythm.…
A plumaged bird has touched your lips with flame,
Translated you to the impenetrable mountain
Beneath the crystal silence of its cataract.

The fire of her lips dies on the mountain,
The ash is scattered by an unrecording wind.
A thousand autumns hide her trace,
Nor may weave a spell of words to find it.