In the house of my body I carry that river.
In the depths of my being I’m water. My
body’s the home of a wandering miner
too old to go down and too tired to go on.
When I stand on the world and look over
what’s living, what’s left, I’m the bridge
to the past and the road still unfolding.
Wheels and water, tracks and steam, all
the footprints beside the river, thousands
of hours spent double in blackness, a light
on my head to remind me I’m human. In
the shape of my bones I’m an NZR sleeper
and when my last shift comes, my Dog Watch
boys, lay me like coal by the sea at Karoro.