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This poem is taken from PN Review 204, Volume 38 Number 4, March - April 2012.

pacifictions John Gallas
encounter with a Taniwha near Puponga Farm, Onetahua

The deed of a Taniwha does not take time:
it is considered / done.
The doing is not to be seen.
He may put on his socks if he wishes
by thinking how nice they will look when he does.

The Taniwha lives at the westernest end of the sand,
and resembles a cave at all points.
His face is a rock-face glour;
his hair a bush all punga and flax;
his breath by the pulmonous salt-lac'd wave.

You are restless already with objection.
But the Taniwha is not
Nature mistook or took,
nor an eco nor logical soul.
He is Here; not About. Come on.

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