Fog and low cloud
the colour of water lapping the lighthouse
Wellington in the morning is dreamy
Despite the reality of cars backed up to the Gorge

The harbour sinks under the mist
The boat of the motorway, only Charon is missing
Look, the Tararua range is rising on the horizon
like a great ferry

In the primary school, children jump
up and down, in surprising good rhythm
their voices strong in the city
Do we belong here? Are we strangers?