Whittlers examine a piece of wood, envision the sculpture
(bear, fish, human) waiting there. In her chunk,
the Dollmaker makes out a Christ whose face never clears.
Then the great chief Rata comes upon a 60-foot kauri.
Within its straight pine trunk, a canoe knocks and knocks.
Here I am, it calls and calls, let me out. The writer
in the silent child. The policeman in the abused boy.
The nurse in the girl who has been burned. This canoe
can withstand the beating of breakers against its ribs,
churning of the heavy sea beneath it. With it, Rata
can resurrect his father’s bones from a distant place.
—Haul out the stone adzes and chisels. Let the chips fly.