– 22 –

To a man of few words

Old King, in the end
what I mean to say
is that a poem is just like you.

These obvious criteria:
two arms, two legs
a head, one belly
warm blood, tough sinew
wet tears, snot
muscle and eyes.

Those hidden lines:
unsaid, undone
unfinished, unwound
uncomfortable
unexplained
unspoken.

All that is not said

The riddle of you

That gap between us.

A place I sometimes come to
at the edge of my skin

like the lookout up on One Tree Hill
to stare across at Rangitoto

wondering how you can be both out
there and inside of me at the same time.