Tuesday, January 25, 2011


I stare at the light on my ceiling, nacreous, coruscating confetti.  I am rushing across the maps in my mind.  I cannot sleep.

I think of eucalyptus trees, brocaded bark, the softest of yellows; I would braid the branches through my hair.

We drove up the northern coast, through a great divide.  We found a secret bay, a silence, a breath.  The ocean was lost in the land, the waves kissed the banks.  It was raining, wet skin, wet lips; outside it was all eucalyptus.