Anderson’s Bay

For Penelope Todd

The inlet’s skin glistens,
taut surface blown like blue milk

small fleets of light –
copper-scaled fish –
dart and shimmer.

A riroriro trills:
the air’s fine fibres
pluck and hum,
urge us, lift your gaze

there's some new arrival

seabirds circle it
in a sharp white crown of calls

sun pours to the swimming curves
as if to the harbour’s pupil, sight’s centre.

Who is it that flips, turns,
bucks and skims?

He draws a comet’s tail in fiery ripples,
writes chevrons, loops, scudding hieroglyphs;

the spine rises, dark and lissom
powerful and lithe in a solitary, subnascent dance.

Across the sea’s inlet
along the mind’s fibres:
joy, or a sea lion.