Briar Wood
Green bright and moon black
the road to Rangiriri glows.
Two lines sleeping together
in haymaking weather.
Scratch my back
and I'll scratch yours.
Unzipped and dripping.
He piko.
Riverine town.
At a bend where the Waikato
slow almost to pause-
when the suture of a railway crossing.
Streets sweating frangipani.
Rhinestone midnight.
Purples ferment.
Blue bursting out of its skin.