Pohutu
I set my clock to the geyser. 

The periodic gust at the half hour mark

Matches me.

Everyone comes to see her,

Marvels at her.

I ask her questions as my sister.

Buried beside is my meal,

Cooked by the heat of her frustration.

Boiling and stirring itself.

I fire away in memory of my agency.

I want it back. 

I want my sulfuric blasts to be beautiful

Like hers. 

No guns allowed. No magma. 

The salt stings my eyes and

The mud pool bubble pop wakes me.

A light mist puts out my anxious little fire

And I dissolve into the saline.

I am no volcano.

The tuis call me water.

I obey them like a hometown bell toll.