Dear South

It's one of those brumous mornings up here in Havelock North

like the breath of everything has halted

a veil over the property, over the house

igniting the webs with droplets

the pepper tree, the mandarin, the lemon

slick and glistening

globules fruiting on the bonsai Cypress

each globule, a mini world

if you love witchcraft and potions, maybe even Macbeth

you will love being here

stand in this philtre for five minutes

your lashes will be dripping

tight-knit beads enshroud your robe

bantam nimbus

with all his fusion and benevolence

the sun's a buried bulb,

the moon a fuzzy bone

this phantom vellum, this spectral poncho

this tracing paper distilling in me a feeling pleasing

as the tui's song dripping from his throat.

Andrew McIntyre was born in Wales and lives with his partner and two sons in Havelock North.
He is in the process of writing two books of poetry, one concentrating on the death a child, and the other a book of sonnets. His poetry has been published in takahe and Poetry New Zealand. He works in the orchard industry.