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.