1
here the wind pushes / rests
snatches at birds’ feathers / sniffs out
body heat         the thermal readings 
          of a day’s exertion
home-centred
                 i drop to the ground
            stain my belly green
                 and crush wormcasts
                        toasted by the sun
2
the road to Ngamotu
        is littered with stone emblems
            facades lying flat
            people in wrinkled skins




i suffer from the ingredients 
of the night before
               i look uncomfortable
               sitting in my seat sitting on stories
               left behind before walking
              into the city through fields
of potatoes / homes specifically built
          for soldiers / farmers / their wives
                               their maidservants
3
the road to Ngamotu
                        is not all tinsel-taped
                        and entangled /
leather boots have flattened it
         for easy access
                for viewing landscapes
                    rusty ploughs
scorched implements in their making




          the neighbourhood 
                 has retreated uphill
          to live amongst the camellias
                                        the rhododendrons
                                        the laughing owls
          to love amongst the sectarian adherents

                        wearing white flowers
4
a generation now dug in
                                            stares skywards
             under the weight of its hangi stones
                 its verbs silent




     i suffer from the remoteness
            of a woman
                    holed up in a dream of herself
        her habits / her bucolic version 
                         of staring at a gift horse
               and smelling the fertile sweetness of its breath
5
the road is as it is /      
dry dusty pot-holed / an appian way
plundered by workers every day




          the horse knows best knows where to go
past the skypools of relatives / gates bolted to the earth
past forests arguing about longevity




             the woman
                      sits at a table in the backyard
midges shape her thoughts / they
         swarm
          and spin /
her mind takes refuge
                 amongst tribal affiliates




a shamanistic resonance
influences this homecoming
and if i listen (like i should)
                            these outcrops of peaceful
                                   solidarity
                        should be enough