World
— for Akka Home is its own geography. Where we stood as children of stilted iguanas, Condenses in a thought, It returns to us on days aged by flagging mint,…
Coral
Crackling pink, a sea bird’smorning eye plunders deepdown the water cage andfinds coral beds firingpolyps to contact the sun. Vision of a wound, fromacreage of stolen incidents,an eye borne of…
Beetles
Let us lag behind the stolen beetles,captives of the sun, garrulous greendots, half complete in the bushbut luminous, spendthrift lightvulnerable to the night antsand our spent crawlthat stirs what is…
The Bat Whisperer
I own the best stocked supermarket on Coal Island. It belonged to my father who handed it down to me when he died. He was an angry man because he…
Bees
Bees froth above the surface,their ancient porridge in-made, asign they are to crack out ofstripes, pearl shut-ins, the mono-diurnal churn and flit. Two bees, or are there ten?You count, re-name,every…
Catching Iguanas
What people didn’t understand about me was that I returned only because I had no choice. They saluted me for coming back to the island, when my thoughts were with…
Day at the Mosque
The mosque at dusk was close to Forster’s,except, we did not have the moon,or the species of feet, soot-slabbed,curled like the dagger behind the glass casethat I alerted you to,…