There is a thrilling stillness.
Two kingfishers stare at each other on the fence,
the macrocarpa a rough bunch of dark in its trunk vase.
Beyond, Kapiti Island is bluer than the sea and sky.
My new landscape unsettles:
past and present are colliding,
and it’s the past that goes under,
splinters and melts into the molten deep,
sending up tremors.
Closer to the surface
the strain causes ruptures in thought.
Night fills up.
The hoot of a train makes the air stand on end;
sound emerging through the dream-hole.