Tuesday, February 10, 2015

We leave the imprint of heavenly bodies in the sand

You batter me up with late moonlight 
and kookaburra song, slather the griddle

three inches high all cadmium blue and starstuck,
howling like a dingo under an outback sky.

These eggs a-boiling, smell like electric turquoise 
on the grill, and I am a-banging 

your pots and pans, longing for pancakes 
that whistle like comets. You orbit Jupiter 

and leave me ruminating how the light slants 
early in the yard. Kangaroos catch 

every calcium rotation of that pearl skyball
laughing above us in the old gumtree.

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