But we never saw Te Wai Pounamu

pounamu:
an avocado ripened
to a smooth, chill
contemplation.

that hei matau
--lucky for some--
hooked onto the
whiteness of an eye.
those ridges contain
histories, and the
blemishes speak
of all.

double koru,
looped with a curve
like a ballet-dancer’s foot
or a dolphin’s tail with
that bond that cannot be
undone. but is it
kōpūrau or matarua?

finally the wairori of
two paths, like a
strand without bases,
continuing for
an unrealized infinity.
the stillness beckons,
showing reflections
of the remote.

pounamu:
the warrior and
the peacemaker
fused a rocky religion.