
I wake to engines—
inside, my brain fog clears up,
outside it descends.

I wake to engines—
inside, my brain fog clears up,
outside it descends.

A dance of shadows:
emeralds in the ceiling
lighting up the room.

Though we build bridges
often we fall a bit short—
in concrete and life.

Pōhutakawa:
every day feels like Christmas,
walking tree-lined streets.