– 113 –

Close of Day, Oturehua

The sun's gone down behind Blackstone Hill
and the nearby pines are still. There's
not a breath in the willows by the Ida,
but we don't need a breeze
to confirm that the world's alive

and full of promise, inspiriting.
Dogs bark and snarl, chains rattle;
my neighbour is calling
for a daft black lab called ‘Boy’
to come home Now.

The sky is clear as conscience,
tonally pure, and in the paddock
under the hill, cattle are grunting
as if trying to shove mountains aside.