Friday on the beach

O
What can the wind do to me that it sways
my tenderbitten judgement and I am lost on a beach,

the sand burnt to ashes
beneath my scoured feet;
imprinted miles streak away from my red back

shimmering in the near distance
distorted by the iridescent heat
searing out of the white sea and blue tongue lashes

at my legs, sucking at my toes
and the old man beseeches me to come to him
with a prized morsel quavering between my legs,

and I see at my feet a new print.
It comes from the blue
teardrops fall and surf in the mould,

peaking in the heel then evaporates with much love.
There is another! They invite this man
who dreams of tygers and eagles towards the bush,

that jungle lurching out of deepest nature
of the wildest dreams of the savage garden;
incandescent strobes of exploding greens and browns

these tracks lead.
With salt upon my lips, and my nipples tingling
in remembrance of others

and their kisses draw me into that inferno.





25/6/94