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Blue sky black rocks

Although the blue sky lured me out

riding around Lyall Bay

I found the long black road shaded

from a low-slung northern sun,

grateful that a passing ute

broke the law on my behalf

to swerve over the double-yellow

lines and give me width.

Out in the flat of Cook Strait

the inter-island ferry snails past

a confident little red tug boat

hauling a stricken ship back

into harbour, past jagged black rocks

in shore, snow topping the backdrop range.

Kia tūpato is twice signed at Moa Point

where little blue penguins may cross,

just as my Nana Mae

would warn to take care,

her serene smooth face

forever denying the shame

of death by drowning,

a young troubled husband

lost overboard crossing

this beguiling strait

on his way to Hanmer Springs.

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