what it's like to be yours.

i have never thought of green

the way you sink into the trees.

like a prayer out of the mouth

of the penitent into the booth

of the confessional: have you always

been holy? the streaks of summer

blown behind your hair like

the flight of south-bound birds?

i can smell the signature of

the sea scribbled in the zephyr.

and for the sunset you hide the sun

behind the lei of leaves you plucked

from the palm and banana leaves.

i do not remember the bed looking

neater than the way we lie and hide

our faces in each other's bodies.

playing hide and seek in our skins.

pretending - ignoring - forgetting

that tomorrow is the fermenting mould

and the lazy algae in the aquarium.

that the water is green.

and the fish are flying.

---

First published in Ambrosia.