Aoraki moraine

after our still-frozen blueberries   

manuka honey and oranges peeled   

we were a drift of smoke  you and  me  


a drift of  smoke in unfelt fields

cold toes walking snow-tussock Aoraki  

where - heavy with silt - a lake of wet steel   


revealed the long shadow of a five-crag valley

and we chanced a look at what there remained:

colossal dice tossed free.


Later we were told they were the moraine  

what was left behind when a glacier recedes  

when a valley clears its throat of names. 


I remember you clearing your throat with the need   

to talk but I don’t recall your advice

or how your hand felt in mine, or our need  


to know what is left when the drift of us cleared:

a memory of a time that was    nice…  

of blueberries not thawed   that we feared

we would never break this ice