
Thick suit of armour
oak bark wearing week-old moss
faces axe bearers

Thick suit of armour
oak bark wearing week-old moss
faces axe bearers

Handcuffed together
hydrangea in summertime,
there are no loopholes

I wake to a glow
alien pink filters in
my window at five

Tiny Christmas lights
bringing joy to street corners
Pōhutukawa.

“Branches” seems surplus;
limbs of giant ancient trees,
cutting “arms” sounds bad.