Wave on wave of life
Like the great wide oceans roll
Haunting hands of memory
Pluck silver strands of soul
The damage and the dying done, the clarity of light
gentle bows and glasses raised to the charity of night
Slow revolution, 1985, crosswise
in a hammock in the hot volcanic hills.
Its 3AM, the night after the air raid.
>From the ridge she watched A37s like ugly gulls make a dozen swooping
passes over some luckless town maybe ten clicks beyond the border. In the
distance the Pacific glimmered silver. Now lascivious laughter floats on
the darkness from the police post next door. Male voices and a woman's.
Little clouds of desire painted around the edges with rum. In the muddy
street a pig suddenly screams.
Pacific glimmers silver. Moon
full over shadow mansion.
West coast. Can't say when.
There is incense and the heat-driven scent of flowers. A tongue slides over
soft skin, love pounds in veins, brains buzzing balls of lust. Fingers
twine in wet hair, limbs twist and roll. On the dresser wax drips in slow
motion down the long side of a black candle. Ecstatic halo of flame and