"Magicians Fingers"

Poetry by Stephen Hollins 

“Magician’s Fingers”
under a tea-tree grove
lying on a bed of dry moss
sinking into earth’s soft mattress
pea-green curly strands bunched
like afro wigs stitched together
splashed in mottled sunlightmy arty daughter
armed with a paintbrush
and a plastic strip of potted colors
paints Easter eggs, strips of bark
and autumn leaves, her magician’s fingers
insert a smiling feijoa inside a moss-filled eggconfessional treetops whisper in the breeze
rope chime’s against aluminum yacht masts
anchored in Okoka Bay
the water dazzles through a lace curtain
of leaves and bushesa Fantail visits
in a choreographed display
of unrepeatable flicks and twirls
claiming stillness for two seconds
his little black eyes look into mine
tweets Covid, then flirts off again
leaving his signature in the air
an echo of tattooed smokered berry tree harbors
an army of wasps
they helicopter in and out
of sunlit emerald leaveswe sit in butterfly silence
whooshed now and again
by a drunk Wood pigeon

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