Wild Mushroom Picker

 the wild-mushroom picker steps
     into the dew-wet grass, bows
      	as if practising tai-chi
 
 in slow motion, she scoops the grass
     raises a large white mushroom
      	to the goddess of morning

Angel

 	In the right light
the light speckle of wings
 	turns blue from bronze,
hangs in the air
 	like a kāhu
ready to close in;
 	each sweep of slow
quartering flight
 	each disappearance
as she moves sideways
 	into the light
trembles
 	in the placid
waters of the estuary.