by Topher Shields
At the headlands,
basalt hums—
a low warmth
held in stone.
Wind lifts
the koru of flax,
and the air tastes
of salt, of split ehu kai. Continue reading
by Topher Shields
At the headlands,
basalt hums—
a low warmth
held in stone.
Wind lifts
the koru of flax,
and the air tastes
of salt, of split ehu kai. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry