Poem – Lynn Davidson

Leaving Wellington At dawn I caught a taxi to the airport and saw first light ignite the hillside houses – and I thought about how still life artists deepen the surface of their objects with a bloom that, without saying, evokes a place with people the way those rising houses implied rooms to escape the wind, to circle in, to slacken.   The plane drops its grey shadow in the sea and the shadow pulls back slightly, like an anchor.   Hours go by and elements still gather. Each day my waking children, just by naming assembled all the solid

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