Net curtains
the roof of the four courts
casts minaret
shadows. it’s funny;
you notice it
mornings like this.
this morning is milk
with a thick mist
of souplight,
chopping the town
down to chewable chunks.
lines soften stone
like rain on old statues;
all net curtains
drawn against day. crossing
the bridge
toward christchurch,
I look down
into fog
and the stinking black
of water,
rising like steam
from hot cups.
*
DS Maolalai has been nominated four times for Best of the Net and three times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been published in two collections, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016) and Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019).
