by Veronica Troup

Vast greywacke mountains elbow sky
rolling under snow’s unwoken fleece
liquid shale blue-wrinkles shore
veined in poplar, silver birch
higher, sunbathed tussocks clump alone
their roots warm beneath
mist touching earth

Our snow laugh tastes of lemonwood
Fairlie pies and caramel sauce
clouds, a streak of afterthought
tow-tie nor’ wester’s fearless thaw
laws of physics rip and spill
through Rakaia, knee and peak
we brace, we brace for home

We ghost play through the conifers
re-dawned each year by wilding trees
ice-crumbed paths clawed by chain
lyres of burnished tundra call
full of remembering
kea’s lost voice
and the Frenchman found in spring
just near the waterfall

• From Lake Tekapo to Mt Hutt, Southern Alps, NZ