Paper Nautilus
i
The bones of the wrist are
delicate
as marine origami.
Tonight
let us talk
of Izanagi
who
tiring of poetry
made all the world of paper.
ii
Arrive at drowning first
cross twenty metres of
shattering bone whiteness
so hot it scalds your ankles
a rash of seashells.
Walk towards evening
come behind the dunes
(smell the tin roof at nightfall)
follow me up the stairs
trace the window frame
close your eyes
we shall begin to learn
to navigate by memory.
Pass midnight with open hands
hear the ocean where
this began
whispering foam beyond the dunes.
Stand in the garden
the kitchen has spilled
out the window
frangipani
wanders in along the spine of a gecko.
iii
Moving from first principles: we swallow
instinctive.
At two almost drowning.
Learning to skid across
glass at twenty then
growing thick tongued
priapic
drizzling water
nightly from my ears.
Surfers ride haiku.
Remembering water all my life.
iv
This is our third week
we are smoothing the creases
learning to model the contours
of each other. I find
her small disturbance
of sand and air
can be traced
in seashells and paper,
I make my way to our bed easily in darkness.
When she was twenty
she lived in Bondi and
I never knew her.
This map could have been taken
screwed up,
we might have collided like continents
epochal.
Now
I am kissing
inside her mouth,
exploring this
salt red moisture with fingertip
and tongue,
our breathing grows
closer.
Yesterday I woke
her back was tilted against my chest.
One hand cupped the
dark mound of her breast.
The chambers of her ribs
washed gently against me.
city of tongues 