Shark Hour The sun is pulled low at 5pm Patchy clouds cause the light to fade in and out and out and in Like the breath pulling from my lips and nose Or the tide lapping at the ngamotu cliffs It is Shark hour I’m at home Or is it in home? I’m in a boat of concave bone Adrift, alone, in gumboot tea and secrets It's a time for catching words For sailing pictures of prose Familiar thoughts thread into messy stanzas That fit comfortable fray like an over-worn coat New thoughts are like dark patches on the coast I’m not sure if its a rock Or a fin hovering above something That might eat me whole Where did the sun just go? I don’t swim in darkness. The white walls are losing their defined shadows Going slate gray
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