Sea and sky slide south down
the taniwha’s bruised gullet.
Its gaping maw swallows
the headland where driven
waves, torn by black-rock teeth
turn white with rage, seething
over bull kelp strewn on shingle
like giant squid vomited
from Cook strait’s depths.
Clouds break to blue, a lover’s smile through tears
squalls whisper wild stories in her sea shell ears.
The high-tide wrack is the storm’s brutal literature
seagulls hanging, mewing, its karakia and signature.
© Jack Perkins November 2001
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