Mezzaluna. Michele Leggott

with blossom and

      the high diver who danced courtship on dynamo wings

      all weekend

      long

      in the orchard

      which blew its own scents and those

      of the rock breaker

      elusive unlikely unreal

      to us

      in the green cinnamon evening

      Canoe sun showers arbutus dropping those honey flowers

      into the sea

      bird of the other laugh circling above them

      and out on the point

      cabins breathe in the trees

      with the help of that redesigning wind

      the pictures we wanted to paint badly

      will be tacked up

      robin’s egg tender with the yellow blown out

      hearts and stars and squalls

      rattling through a silver-pen narrative

      the strait can do to a count of minutes (fast passages

      or ricepaper wash

      white sheets and open doors

      on closed eyelids (the dream) (the curve

      of a dyed egg

      a hemisphere

      or a line of longitude

      my ache for yours

      trading in the dim cabins of possibility

      for the wingspread facts

      of the dream

      and so

      the whales came in like the naturals they were

      throwing off rowboats of improbability

      they travelled west with the sailing islands

      the world turned some more

      and both archipelagos

      came up for air

      gulf and pool

      and eye of the wind palagi blue

      grey

      green

      gulps

      of Pacific lilac and the wild red currant

      around the headlands

      flowers on the water

      or

      signs of the pace we set

      The dark pointer has an Easter face and northwest light

      is flooding that outflung arm

      of the sea sun gone over the edge

      or beyond the hills of the bay

      she called him the Sentinel

      and he stands between us and the wet light of the Pacific

       islands like the moon passing through a phase

      he guards this passage

      perhaps us

      nights in the cabin with the kids asleep underfoot

      or listening in the dark

      days running for the tops of hills

      the ends of points

      any place a line might sail in

      (that curve

      breathing tenderness saying we are so close

      need so much

      so many times over

      we keep moving tangling the lines

      and the great distances grow dangerous

      unless the wind on your face

      is also my breath

      in the hollow of your throat

      and we go on like that

      forever

      for good

      times feet on the porch rail in the late sun

      roasting paschal lamb stuck with rosemary

      waiting for the others

      the canoe the car

      the crab-catchers line-casters lake-finders

      the shore-walkers bird-watchers book-readers

      letter-writers lily-sniffers

      snake-chasers shell-hunters egg-painters

      the eaters of spice buns and bacon

      (the Sunshine Breakfast warm at the oven door

      phenomenal scrambled eggs

      the whole crew

      coming in now

      dice-rollers gin-drinkers hangovers

      crowded round the table again

      light on their faces reflected Pacific

      morning’s say-so

      or the sweet chiaroscuro of candles

      orange skins thrown on the fire

      wood brought in for the night

      under the skewed eyes of the woodgrain beast

      whose portrait hangs over the hearth

      bear dog coyote

      or ocean chart for those who flunked the tacky gestalt

      who saw only stars

      who took islands as they came

      here

      here

      here

      and here

      and had to be shown eyes nose mouth (Pacific spaces

      or head

      fins

      tail

      Te ika a Māui

      or the navel of the world away off to the south there

      Te pito o te henua

      attached by the cords of memory and desire

      to the improbable the very delicate the invincible

      beginning

      ‘my’ Easter island

      Show me the star charts and I will show you

      plans for a future hung between Georgia and Hauraki

      Auckland and Valparaiso

      Easter and Pender

      place where the whales came in

      and

      space where they used to sing

      a future the shape of a bellied sail

      twenty eight names for the winds of Rapa Nui

      and what matters is the distance they’re blowing into the sail

      that it be navigable

      to the mind wanting voices (the mid-ocean gam

      gathering word

      from wherever whatever

      walking out on mnemonic extremities

      eyes nose mouth navel

      to the plane at