Poems

Ithaca Pool

1:30pm.
Breaststroke.
My arms make dying stars of the sun.
With each stroke
a new galaxy born.

*

Beauty
    is always surprising.

*

A girl reads a magazine in the sun.
My arms,
    the slightest, slowest wings.
At the pool's end I meet her gaze.
We are the only ones who know I fly.

 

 

Night Scene

We were going to bed
    so I turned the lights out
        and saw then for the first time
            the neighbours' windows

and the light that
    spilled from their windows,
        and the way that light
            spilled onto the footpath

outside the house.  I noticed
    these things as our
        lights were off, and
            I was ready for bed,

and we were ready for
    the night to take us
        to the place it takes us
            each night, each night

when I turn the lights out
    and the neighbours leave
        their lights on, spilling out
            onto the street.

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