Now is the Katherine Mansfield room in Menton, France.
In the time I have been here orange blossom has flowered

and gone, next-door’s kiwifruit has taken a firm hold
on the fence and their avocado is a shambles of new leaves.

A passionfruit vine has come over the wire, flowered and is now
laden with fruit. It’s been a fecund old time.

*

When I started work here I spend a lot of time
watching the crane driver on the building site which

backs on to the railway line which runs in front of
this room – yes, it’s noisy sometimes, but I’ve become

used to it. I wanted to see the driver leave his cab
and climb down the crane. During this time a friend

in Wellington met and kissed a crane driver
at a party. It’s odd the way these things coincide.

I didn’t want to kiss this crane driver, I merely wanted
to see him climb down. For days I watched and always

missed him. I’d sit for ages, go inside to drink some water
and come back to find him gone. One day I sat all morning.

I saw him lean forward to yell out the window to the men
below (I loved that – all this technology and the crane driver

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