a year of beaded insects of holy mountains ravines and black-backed shoals unhinging from gravity’s press the circle complete then kiss me and tell is your heart still mine?
these word mysteries are circles connected shaved heads and filigree leaf the act becoming image taxi driver with a red dragon’s eye
our bodies remember this heady wash of current and desire pungent scent of ghost money burning
I am writing a history of the present of all possible directions a tattoo to snare the sun and spiral out to muscle’s edge
blind hours watching through darkness the night sky wildest of cities till morning stars consumed by the mouth of light
at the dog end of christmas the phone call heavy with pauses thick slabs of monsoon rain across the Tasman