Granite Confession

Queen Annes lace embrace, my nostrils stretch to fit the clouds.

The water striders under my eyelids trace the horizon, flashing poplars giving way to snow gums and stringybark.

The same snow gums and stringybark overheard my confessions,

Their ears straining above the engine's hum, slicing into myself to give to you.

That my fingers will be the dandelions, pointing and spinning,

That my hair will be the willows, streams of kisses upon the grass,

That my feet will be the ferns, my toes wiggling in the rain.

That my soul is, and will be, the granite beneath us.