there are the backs of
the eyes of Tāwhirimatea
like eggs
bulging across the shoulders of Raki
that see thru my shadow
when my nose
is a hill on his back!!!!!!!!!!!
& they float down
onto your beautiful cheek too, Takaroa —
the bottom of the ocean
IS the night sky
& black like dried blood…
your spear floats at the doors of our whare
(the world is a whare)
i cup my hands in you
where those 9 or 10 stars
are like sea foam
& Papatūānuku
you took them both, aye?
nah i get it!!!
i’m in the lap of Takaroa
to move and be moved
i’m in the chest of Rakinui
for a last look at our dead
playing in the knots of
Hinenuitepō’s long bull-kelp hair.
