Poem 172

In Miramar, like clockwork, as soon as the kōwhai bloomed a September wind would rip it to shreds …

Three Day Gale

The kōwhai tree has no more flowers to lose
and bows now jerkily into the storm
saying grace through its rat tails
               the grey velvet genitalia

for what we are now about to receive
too much air
                       make us thankful

you who put my yellow to the ground
delicately like a lover
shy about his hard-on
         whistle us still together
through another long night