Sappho lived here.
And Moana, for a turn, too.
Sappho would incise songs
on the backs of fish,
and Moana would swing
like a pendulum
against the rocks
loosening the chitons.
They stayed up all night
and drew maps
of the hemispheres
in the sand
until their nailbeds got sore.
They tossed grass seeds
at the banks and
rock-salts into the pools.
If they stopped still,
they were mournful
neither honey or bee for me/
rimu-rimu, tere tee
So they leapt off cliffs
their hair for parachutes,
dug deep for Toheroa
and Turkish Delight.
Once in a while,
they received guests.
Like Corona Borealis,
back from Princess Bay.
She’d unpin her crown
and go to bed with Orion
in completely
the wrong place.