Transition Zone
The space smells of carbolic cleaners
humidifiers hum in the back bedroom.
I sleep in the front room; the white blinds
bring daylight to my eyelids all night.
Docklands are non-stop traffickers
the rest of us must be lazybones, trying
as we might to sleep several hours.
Beyond, Rangitoto crackles with blackness
and Waiheke hides in its attempt
to be unnoticeable, the shrinking island
you can spend money on but not a life.
(Do not say we are "part of" you, City!)
I cannot smell the solid saltwater air
but it permeates my vision; I become
anticipator of brisk walks and fine photos
along this transition zone, waterfront.
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