Light Lies Lightly

Light lies lightly on
the leaves—a numinous
furze intimating
manifold elsewheres
here-and-now.

Not true. Light lies
about where it has been
all day. It was far from
only taking it easy
upon such blessed foliage. 

For example(s),
after having gone
and filtered into a grotto,
it noses amongst
mucid understory.

At the same time,
someone—it does not
matter who—saw it
at-large in off-piste
Timaru licking 

the curvaceous
stuccoed walls of
mid-century houses,
the kind that look
like cakes. But no matter.

You ask little enough.
O Lucifer, gainsaid
particle and wave,
go forth and lie
where’er thou wilt.

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Robert McLean completed his PhD in English literature at Massey University in 2025, specializing in the poetic representation of state-sanctioned violence. McLean’s poetry frequently explores the formal and ethical intersections of art, theology, war, and political history. His collected poems, Enduring Love, were published by Cold Hub Press in 2020. A scholar of mid-century New Zealand literature and literary modernism, McLean has worked to revive interest in neglected writers by editing the work of writers such as Dan Davin, Ruth France, and Owen Leeming. He lives in Lyttelton and works in Wellington.