Night is settling, the last flitters
of a piwakawaka glimpsed
between tall trunks of manuka
almost gone, hazy now, no dimension
to put a hand around to grasp.
 
I wait for you to come down
the hill, walking ginger on the path,
trusting in normal sense. I lean
into the night, listening for the clink
clunk of the latch. Still here.