Emergence

The night has lost
its roots

can't hold itself to the shadow of its stars.

The day is heavy-
lidded

tucked under its crumpled quilt.

Earth exhales.

 

Two mists arrive
at the threshold;

one uprising, one spilling
over a brim of rock;

one curls a finger,

the other unfurls a frond,
reaches, arrives,
retreats,
arrives,

is joined.

 

The mist receives the mānuka, the kānuka.
The mist receives the rātā, the kūkupa.

 

Wingbeats of air and the mist

retreats,
arrives,
retreats.

 

Kūkupa in his smart white vest,

beats the mist into blurs,
wooing the rātā,
who-whoing the air.

 

And there I am.

Lost in salutation.

Mist lifting.