[he kōtuku rerenga tahi anake]

the zephyr that is my lost son

still frisks me;

breezes me with questions

I can never reply.

 

the zephyr that is my dear son

taps me on the shoulder;

tells me to follow for a while,

to explain what I was doing

on the night in question.

 

the zephyr that is my dead son

wafts sometimes right through me;

arrests me in momentum,

causes           a          caesura:

t  e  a  s  e  s     out     my    tears

through

            its

                balmy

                          foehn.

 

[he kōtuku rerenga tahi anake– Māori – a white heron flies once only]