Critical Voice by Terry Locke

That is: named

One by one
                  they enter the field
as you open the gate
                  of your attention:
the hard curve of stone on sole
         the multiplication of shapes
constrained by
         a universal geometry of line
completed in the laying on
         and layering of colour
against an almost defined backdrop
         where your feet are leading
                                             you
can consequently enter yourself
oriented and orienting
      as compositions come and go
in bigger acts of composure:
         In the next nanosecond
                  so to speak
the prior sense is taken
         possession of by name:
this strutting, brushed back feathered
    beady-eyed, brown neck jutting weka
the high flying, harsh calling, red flashing kea
   the clear noted, green, dip and arcing bellbird
the sheer wonder of it all
         the realm your body knows
as a wholeness
         displaced by satisfaction:
                                    of sorts

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