Keith Nunes

Lost Sunrise

There’s been no word on the sunrise
My grand-mother said something
about colours but she’s got glaucoma

So I drifted down to the wharf and
on the Matapihi horizon rang
bells I hadn’t heard since I was five

I swore I could see Hiroshima going up
The morning sky bristling and booming
There were those who ran but I stood still

The beach thronged with invaders
Waves with orange hearts and
crazy face specters

In a minute or two it would be lost
eased out of its tribulations by a
bland weekday brunch

and in the trees on the parade I
saw a kite dangling, hoping for a
line that would sum up its night