Ngahere.
Moving the microcosms in fallen trees.
The trees silently hear their falling
under the flickering fantail fingers
whose old rhythms rebound into the cleansing dark of liminal space, sea and sand Heavy canopy of carbon brought down with the moon,
the call
She cries
She lifts
it strikes.
What sickens in the wake of your crescent armature? Your body judders. The steel moon bounces. Your fingers quiver as if to sense the world. Your dream-like wiri is the belly growl of a tired and irate Earth.
The bite of your eyes makes my skin dance with the imminent recognition of liveness or mortality or the wicked, teeth-grinding pleasure of the sense of an ending—
...?
By Collaborator Amit Noy
We found this character together in the woods, A turn of a mask, a wisp of fabric.
I didn’t know he was waiting to be found but we all caught our breath when he appeared I thought he might be Whiro te tipua, he is said to eat your body after you die as you enter the underworld, the earth.
Whiro te tipua - The god of darkness and evil ills whose rival is Tāne Mahuta.
I love her, I love her moody, angry strong way she cuts through and holds boundary.
A Toki to clear away, cut away any doubt of the dual war that is going on.
Wo Man and land.