The ducks are ships
With masts and sails of mottled feathers
Cutting through the river’s veins
of blue and brown
Maritime masters of movement and navigation
I parted their austere authority, gently
With the blunt end of my paddle
As I toppled over the edge
Buckled knees humbled by the waters
Yet, determined to stand, prevail
Against the curious perusal
Of honu, faces mud-masked and mocking
With shells of castles, living strongholds.
Wet scales flashing knives of sun
in my eyes. I squint and bow to them
Masters of the river, revenants of the sea
I struck and divided the waters
Into miniature whirlpools.
It remained. Unconquered. Undivided.
I, on my raft, void of balance
A flimsy lifeline, my sole ally
Braving the currents between turrets
And sentinels of mangrove and bamboo
I, a foreigner, a welcome intruder
a master of nothing, challenging the sages.
Fragile. At the mercy of my board
Plead passage through their kingdom