rhythm & design
My mind rests on rhythms and what a day means
and how a volcano in Iceland can disrupt the normal.
Meanwhile, at the window the cat whines like a puppy
as he regards the fantail's firty skirt. A bumblebee mouths
the sill. A kereru whop-whops above where I sit
on the garden-seat swinging and thinking of rhythms.
Soon, the smell of cedar among the firewood
will signal the beginning of the day ending,
the sizzle of what's in the pan for dinner semi-drowning
the voice of the television newsreader with news
perhaps of some solo rower crossing an ocean
in order to repeat what his father did some years ago
but in the opposite direction, which in a way is what
we all do every day of our lives, by chance or by design.
Kay McKenzie Cooke