Poem: ‘A Time of Day’
Allen Curnow, 7 January 1988
A small charge for admission. Believers only. Who present their tickets where a five- barred farm gate gapes on its chain
and will file on to the thinly grassed paddock. Out of afternoon pearl-dipped light the dung-green biplane descended
and will return later, and later, late as already it is. We are all born of cloud again, in a caul
of linen lashed to the air-frame of the age, smelling of...