MEREANA LATIMER
Te ‘okianga in e minor
ka ‘oki‘oki koe, ‘ātuitui‘ia koe ki
bones in the soil that grow into flutes
sounding over the waves
like acapella ‘imene māmās
bearing down cold hospice hallways
letting the grey lino sing
in amongst Zoobar exhibitions
‘e toke ‘enua nō ‘enuamanu
circling back over and over
to where the birds are all piccolo chatter
cymbals crashing like waves
diluted in a two-four IV
dripping out a solo diminuendo
thrumming through years of GIB callouses
when you press your hands over mine
words resonate, rhythmless, so I –
press pause on orchestral full motion
watching seven stars rise and wane
in the harbour, with my ear on the ocean
where the spray tastes of sawdust and cigarettes
listening for your return