1.
River-mother, River-child
Young woman by the river,
arms extended, swings her child;
suspended, he admires the ferry,
painted nursery-blue and white.
The child's eyes reflect the river,
images of cloud and sky;
mangroves share a dream of tides,
while the morning floods with light.
2.
Boy and the River
I come here in the mornings
before school, and in
the afternoons.
Today I found a sand crab
underneath that rock.
I put him back.
The river looks like scales
of fishes, don't you think?
Or sand. The ripples look like
sand patterns at low tide...
Or clouds, sometimes.
When it gets dark, the river bank
has many golden eyes.
3.
River Nocturne
Only the river,
lipping, lapping,
empty dinghy rocking.
Sinister deeds
happen here.
I smell fear.
No moon, but
I've never seen
the evening star so piercing.
It is like
the eye of Cyclops,
watching.
4.
House by the River
This house,
cool white timber shell,
creaks in night breeze,
cracks its joints
in cold and heat,
shades summer days,
shelters me from darkness,
faces river-mangrove-fringes,
piercing morning light
and stands of ancient trees.
Life wells
within this shabby,
unadorned and worn
thin-painted shell,
and silence pools,
reflecting
depths and absences.
Birds return in months
when vines and branches
weave and bind about me.
Can it be
that I must free
myself also from these?
5.
Tree of Two Souls
A soul-tree sprang
from a seed of the soul's
longing, glimpsed
in the loved one's face.
Two souls took root
in each other,
nurtured by light,
budding delicately.
Two birds flew
to the tree, their voices
rose in praise to the sun;
effortless with desire,
their song became one.
Thunder circled the crown;
lightning dazzled into a wreath;
earth tremors threatened the base
but the tree remained straight.
The river gleamed with a vision
of the tree, its leaves and bole;
the river murmured of love,
the tree of two souls...
6.
Swift Tide
Swift tide,
gleaming with last light,
surges downstream to the bay;
spinnakers are gathered in
like seabirds' wings.
Frangipani-scented breeze
ruffles water, tousles leaves;
the city fades,
then like a torch
ignites.
7.
River Voices before Dawn
The river fills the well of night
with water-voices, cries of birds.
Barges pass with firefly lanterns,
motors throbbing, towards dawn.
A solitary curlew-cry
laments the passing of the tribes.
The current carries shifting patterns
of a day, a way of life.
In darkness, generations wait
for morning's covenant of light.