Morning, Maori Rd

Morning, Maori Rd by Mike Crowl

My toe-in-the-hole shoes
high-five with the path;
pass a fierce foreign jogger.

Shivering leaves -
sequestered birds
snatch-clutch branches.

Tone-deaf, one makes slate scratches,
an ill-hinged door touched by a gasp at midnight.

One pitches his song perfect on the
smooth blue sky puddle -
with no visible ripples.

Water winks at me once only
and in fresh-found self-esteem
from recent rain
proclaims itself a stream. 

First published in the Otago Daily Times several years ago