Under the tall peppermint gums
with rain-dark skin and upraised limbs,
I see her choose her body’s way,
pausing to stare out at the grey
of the Huon’s water, and beyond
a cloudy wilderness. Now her blond
hair tied in a mop appears,
her eyes that might be full of tears
as they are brimming with the world,
the color of the sea gone cold.
I could be a hunter in a blind
but she’s no prey. She’s another kind
no one has quite identified,
though doubtless many men have tried.
Enough to love and let her be
between daydreams of sky and sea.
David Mason
David Mason lives in Tasmania. His new collection of poems is Pacific Light (Red Hen), and in March he will publish a book of essays, Incarnation and Metamorphosis: Can Literature Change Us? (Paul Dry Books).
Latest posts by David Mason (see all)
- To the Other Planets - September 21, 2022
- In the Caged Garden - September 21, 2022
- At Home in the Imaginal - February 21, 2021
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