melaleuca

in the estuary there are nymphet girls,

slim-bodied, with doe limbs and navy swimsuits

that cross over on their fauny backs.

they’re gliding on the 

insistence of the tide, facedown 

in the water, snorkel masks

suckered to their cheeks. and they

drift into my ankles, and they startle

unselfconsciously. I remember

to remember them,

twin mermaids, unafraid of 

crushed jellyfish hanging

like amputees by the edge of the water.

-

it is after the rain, or before,

the sky sagging with

hot evening sun, long lines

of shadow on the grass, in the manuka trees.

the little girl runs 

across the grounds, after daddy,

slow blonde comet,

burns to the touch.