Auckland, New Zealand
You sit in a chair
dispersed by breaks of light,
eyes busy tracking that
wall-hugging mossie -
I settle before you,
spread out beneath our
until later, under a starcrammed sky
words formulate, hang suspended"
"Something's always lost in translation"
a nod in humid cicada air.
And I perceive your reduction,
sense you weave and drown
in the sound of clouds crossing paths.
I have found your beauty, drunk on
the distance that hums between us.