Small hook

He iti, ahakoa he pounamu hoki

From the cord’s end, the catch produced

her jawbone hook. A thousand pencils

sharpened to this soft point, time

took a new first breath. The boat

seemed smaller, we noticed more keenly

the breeze, the chop, the nation

hushed. Metaphor cannot hold her,

she is like and unlike all the others,

only the plainest best words

will serve for our prime miniature.

©John Adams 2018

John is an Auckland-based poet.