Sunday, July 04, 2010


by Hone Tuwhare, a New Zealand poet.

I can hear you
Making small holes
In the silence

If I were deaf
The pores of my skin
Would open to you
And shut

And I
Should know you
By the lick of you
If I were blind

The something
Special smell of you
When the sun cakes
The ground

The steady
Drum-roll sound
You make
When the wind drops

But if I
Should not hear
Smell or feel or see

You would still
Define me
Disperse me
Wash over me

- Hone Tuwhare