Waiting for the tide

[just mercedes]

With emery cloth hands
dusted like a weightlifter,
I caress the natural curves
and blow gently with the grain,
dreaming of summer sails.

If you were a NZ Maori you would be banned from carving - it is an insult to Tane, the God of trees, to blow on wood when you carve. tut tut.

Apart from that, I like the poem - the dreamy feeling at the end offsets nicely the specific first lines. I also like that you blow with the grain, it focuses my attention on the wood - is it the same carving that had a mar in it?

I'm wondering if the second line should be "dusted like a weight-lifter's".