In the casuarina-soft sky
your face.
I am your mirror words
left waiting wondering
pinioned on the banks.
Not the poem you wanted to write
yelling out
yellow cries
purple walls
tissue paper.
Youngberry globes
lost planet halves
balanced in the netted air
in the planet-wheel garden.
Clematis coils spurl seaward glances
at the empty panes.
– Don't touch, eel bird, child.