Food to Song
with an undershirt of calcium,
held aloft in two wooden fingertips
the trail of seeds to Jomon.
Koshihikari, the taste of the shakuhachi,
a singular stream of air,
with toes in white waterways of phosphorus.
draped in a cloth of translucent starch,
a pearl in soma,
swell the iron rich children of grass.
under the pirouette of watery ghosts,
in a cot over white ash,
the lively chatter of 10,000 seagulls.
A shed husk,
scented of one grain,
this white cloak was a shelter
to one universe that withheld the map to god.
a voyage to Polynesia east,
an offering of kumara
brings tears to the eyes of Toroa.
behold the eyes of god,
clear and bright this constellation of stars,
a pathway of light to harvest.
the blessings of Rongomatane
rest at the toes of spring,
tapu mounds of soil scatter the hillsides.
a bed of hot river stones,
under the earthen blanket,
steam rises, the buttery smell of pork belly.
creamy fingers to open mouth,
miere, miere, oh miere
upon a honeyed tongue, spirited tipuna sing.
3. Green Tea
susurrates amid the voices of millions,
the soul of Zen priest Eisai
in an ancient garden of luminous green sunlight.
under branches, the antiquated maple,
a square box with wooded bones,
shoji eyes and tatami feet.
Jyaku, Wa, Sei, Kei,
tranquility, in green shadows
harmony, quintessence of the tea flower
from Chawan to lip, purity and respect.
with supple verve, a warrior
his serene shoulders, shokayku
observes the halcyon view of his inner self.
the path to Bonshaku temple,
with bamboo growing perpendicular to the sky,
a legacy of macha, swaddled in steam.
The wood pigeon,
spindles, green then gold sunlight,
water tinkles over rocks,
in feathered cloak, Rupe descends the underworld.
Taranga’s white apron,
iridescent copper and green wings,
roosting, in the wooded forearms of Tanemahuta.
with nectar and wild berries,
her bounty, sweetening the flesh of the kukupa.
with snares tied to the Karaka branches,
pours water into a trough,
the flax noose awaits a fattened neck to break.
hoven in supple mauri arms,
riverbed to under earth, as steam rises,
awaiting the warm oils of flesh to Aunty Heni’s lip.