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in taupo we heard of your domain
of the crossing we could take
skirting your peaks
traversing your slopes –
so we went there
but your idea of summer wasn’t ours –
five degrees and icy gales
we stayed at the skotel and each day ventured out
drove the van down tributary roads
peering at peaks
watching clouds roll over ridges
hearing locals say don’t go up
you’ll be blown off the track
examining mountain flowers
on low tourist walks
waiting for the wind to drop
at night in my skotel bunk
I woke to deep silence
and a darkness so black from night clouds
I tried to remove it
thinking I was blind
we drove back down the mountain
from your alpine summer
you kept your crossing from us
aloof and majestic
and made us quiet
as we warmed ourselves
nearer sea level
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