Ive sailed two storms and faced off foolish fears
Ive weathered whip and surge of waves at worst
The bilge odd ballast ankles mine immersed
Then dream of harbour homed in disappears
On small island pohutukawa tree rears
A fathom over waves its high tide versed
If lightning struck it would torch split and burst
Id wait in thought till thunder entered ears
Sit seaside ruins of Westfield freezing works
Old site of slash and drain inglorious death
The breeze exaggerates each gasp of breath
I bob the boat away two rudder jerks
Its snapper which I spear on whim
Among thin mangrove roots they hide or swim
Chorus whim caprice impulse
