Night Poem II

I can feel it coming,
because the clouds are slowly dying of horizons.

I can feel the light
abandoning its playful hour

and the lovers growing despondent
with each other’s bones,

and the birds that have become
blades of vengeful silence.

I can hear the footsteps of the ocean
prowling the shore like a night watchman;

he is searching the corners of my sadness
for enemies of the dusk.

I know it is coming,
because the sun has fallen on her sword
and bleeds from an enormous waist.

And the earth is a mouth lapping at the purple pools
of her annihilated flame.

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Sunset, Mount Maunganui

The Mount already
takes in all the fecund night
before the light has gone,
while the warmth of the day
still sheaves around it like a skin.
And what other eyes had seen
in the intruding light
now becomes again a precious thing.
And the mountain sunk in dusk
fingers over its sillouette
like one blinded
tracing the secret folds,
the stories of her body,
which others see,
but which she alone
may carry, electric,
in her dark touch,
in the amber of her deep night.