It was the cliff
broken with reason
that landed on seapaper
forming theoretical islands
bunched like coins in a purse

in the stitches
between reason
theoretical lifeforms arose
out of the clear rush
coming to shore like baby

incomparably, legs were four
trees ached
with theoretical yearning
for seed and windsong
long like a spun horse's braid

is the cold of the North different
to the cold of the South?
the theoretical rockfaces
by cuneiform said so.
Different - like relatives.

Until you brought the islands in your pocket,
there was no sand on the shore
and the possibility of habitats
were distant
like constant statistical disbelief.

Views: 16

Add a Comment

You need to be a member of Sydney Poetry to add comments!

Join Sydney Poetry

On Facebook

@sydneypoetry

Social

© 2021   Created by Adrian Wiggins.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Terms of Service