Arise, My Love
The madness of the kamikaze moth upon the pane
in its insane attempts
to tempt its own destruction
for a fleeting peek at light
leaves powdered patterns on the glass and sill.
And will by won’t they don’t survive
the processions of the dead and wanton.
Cicadas sing their song
into the morning chorus
calling all to rise and fall
into a facing off
for places in the hierarchy of sound:
the tui has its twopenceworth, 
the bellbird its bravado,
the dogs in some cacophony
of egotism in their sinecure,
securing who will come and go
through guarded territories.
Even trees believing in their own longevity
will long for light,
and bright with brilliant quills and leaves
will cling and cleave to dawn’s encore performance.
The orchestra of hills at one with nearby night
retreat into a blaze of day’s inflamed and fiery light
amidst the morning mist
that kissed adieu their speckled shade of shrinking dew.
with rising arias
and ancient knowledge
of this time’s most precious plea
to meet the day,
and all its gracious prospects
meet the night’s most naked dreaming.
You are the all of sunrise,
sentinel of glory,
and light upon those toes with ease
you tease me with your flute of voice
and choicest song
into the here and now of our insatiable belonging.
 The tui and the bellbird are native New Zealand birds with distinctive calls. And twopence is pronounced ‘tuppince’.