Her beauty’s a lazy place to start,
it’s so easy. How my gaze sinks in
like a cream pie projectile;
the generous overflow. A springtime
offering: she is hay bales and peaches.
In a previous life, gingham.
Sunshine like meteor fire – I’m asleep
in her bed of embers. Leaning down
through waxy bathwater to kiss her
alive. The thunderstorm internalised.
To be coaxed from the obituaries
by a loquacious child. An epileptic
fit of orange curls – the feminine
and the guttural. I’m too kind
to hold you in my fist; I know
the opium of freedom. Afloat
in the same ripple. The birdseed
fall-away of a disintegrating sandbank.
My feet scramble for assurance to find
only the softness of seawater, a soda
stream of effervescence and a thrown
torch groping its way through darkness.
The lorikeet with its head bent
sideways as if to ask:
where is she?
The Rainbow Bird
1 December 2013