kani te manukura
TE PŌRERE
te pōrere
where the night is a cloak
dropped from
the bones of the sky
the black descends
quick
where the realm
of potential
holds tight
to the realm
of light
one smelling
of sweet
gunpowder tang
the other echoing
distant shouts
suddenly
up close
i can smell
their fear
desperation
determination
in my own
sweat
te pōrere
where te ao mārama
sticks
all caught up
on itself
the fabric
of the universe
gathers twists
folds in on itself
where with each
swoop through
branching bush
tūī stitch
time to space:
wā to wā
sewing like this
creates holes
haphazardly sized
through which
different points
of the race-time
continuum
bleed through
into each other
it’s how the wīwī
wraps around
the wāwā
weft through warp
dextrals under sinistrals
tūī tui tuia
