Dark night. I dreamed of a competitor
in the Winter Olympics
who won the event called ‘running
through constant drizzle’
then gave up the sport,
changed her name to ‘moral wife’
and vowed to become a poet.
I woke up guilty, as though I’d kissed
my best friend’s man. Your photo
on the dresser, your planes in the sky,
your clothes in the dryer on this
rare, rainy Californian day. Snow
like a penchant for loss, falls
white over distant hills.
Blankets of future images
just out of grasp. You’re the one
who knows what I’m wanting
before I move my hand. They say
it’s still cold in Melbourne and I’ll be there
next time storms become the official season.
I’ll be there drinking and thinking
of what I can never tell you,
light just past caring
or ownership. Two winters
on opposite sides of the globe:
two winters to discover
how this love got so far
from home. I’m sentimental
and mostly I don’t care
I trust in a gentle world,
I trust in you.