Sarah Penwarden: ‘Liturgy of the hours’ and ‘Sounds’

Sounds

We stand on deck, the stink
of chip fat fills our nostrils,
rain smears the windows
in filmy layer on layer.

From here, we cruise past mountains,
our cathedrals, and in translucent light
we pass through lenses
of water until our eyes hurt.

You and I are sounding
without a known destination;
we sail through the break
and out to sea.

Sarah Penwarden

Liturgy of the hours

Shell pink, burnt orange, red:
hibiscus open, inching
towards light.

Cicadas sing:
wind stirs the fern fronds,
lifting the eaves of the house.

Exhaust fumes and jasmine drift—
the scent of an
Auckland afternoon.

Tug boat cuts a line
across a mirrored bay:
so suddenly night.

Sarah Penwarden