there is a system of pulleys
let’s call them the four elements and sleep
there is wind and rain
and love drying its tears on a rock
there is gravity that has a switch
it takes a rocket to flick
there is the fire that beckons
and the fire that dispels
the wind that gathers
and the wind that scatters
white sails across the mind’s eye
the tortoiseshell of longing
there is earth that whispers finally
and islands where the sky weighs anchor
islands of breath that you hold
as the blind ships pass
there is the sky
that opens and shuts like a lung
there is a hoist for language
and a rope for forgetting
the tension between them
is what the shipwreck walks on
around the signal fires
Justin Lowe lives in a house called Doug in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney, where he edits poetry blog Bluepepper.
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