glowworm grotto
in the black dark
we assemble arrayed opposite
a bank of cold blue glowing embers
the little dots shine steady
excepting those reflected in the stream
which waver in the wind
gazing at the electric blue
Mind begins to craft
its own Dreamtime story:
stars sky earth fire song water
but that’s not enough –
love loss betrayal remorse punishment
all leading to
the quiet blue bank
gifted to us tonight
pouch peek
wooly grey fur ripples
in an unsettling way
skin splits and a nose peeks out
suddenly we learn
where koala kids are stored
in a space not as like a pocket
as a furred womb
mother K lazes unfazed
as joey rumpuses about
she’s shared her body
long as she can remember now
making room for him
not just in her heart
inanimate love
our children sometimes
shove and kick each other
speak harshly and tease
they aren’t always gentle
with a brother’s heart
but you would never guess these things
if you saw the tender way
they work together to buckle in
each inanimate stuffed animal
in the car
both openly concerned about
each little body’s
safety, comfort, and view,
their hearts utterly in tune
when they care for these
beings without blood
storm wind
after weeks no months with barely a breath
the wind came rolling over in waves
blowing open the door
and rattling the poles
capturing my otherwise wandering attention
with such insistence I laid aside all other plans
and set to lashing things down
fumbled to light the candles
I had felt that barreling gust before,
knew it as the grief of men gone
koalas or lighthouses?
how many lighthouses
is too many?
how many koalas
enough?
seeking balance
always
Turtle Tears
damp tracks mark the turtle’s
boxy leathery face
I ask the ranger about these secretions
turtle tears she says
then gives every explanation possible
that holds no feeling
someone asks
are we bothering her?
as another egg drops into the pile
oh no the ranger answers
we know she doesn’t mind
because she hasn’t stopped
what she was doing
I arch an eyebrow
considering my own labors
once they started
you just couldn’t stop
the next turtle chooses
to go back to the sea instead
scuffles her way toward the surf
until the researchers tackle her twice
pushing hard against her progress
digging their heels into the sand
to hold her still
while someone reads her tag
but they absentmindedly neglect to
write the numbers down
realize their mistake
and scurry to stop her again
of course
the saltwater tracks down her cheeks
are just water
instinctive
not grief
it’s easier for everyone
if it’s true
thirsty for wave: Agnes Water
my toes, thirsty for wave
delight in the surf
wet sand sloughs dead cells
and salt air bathes
my pipes from sinus to lung
moonlight skips a warm glow across the crests
shifting from one end of the bay to the other
as I search the shore for turtle nests
here the ocean is as safe
as a wild thing gets
we are on agreeable terms
and my fingers loosen
dropping one heavy worry at a time
into the tide
then I edge away
knowing it’s a kindness
not to turn my back
unseen danger
after looking dubiously at the sepia water
of the nearly still creek
I went back and asked
is it safe for swimming?
oh, yeah
the owner nodded
I’ve been swimming in it all my life
the crocs are just in saltwater
20ks away
approaching a second time
I got in enough to launch a canoe
all the better to appreciate
how the water was thick like molasses
(perfectly natural, filled with nutrients)
but it wasn’t the water that put me off
it was the impenetrable darkness of it
not knowing what was beneath
the inscrutable surface
hours later
when we came across the six-foot-long python
unhurriedly examining the chicken coop
a short ways from our tent
I did not regret having saved my dip
for the pure cold clear swimming pool,
unmistakably empty before I entered
