‘Where Peppermint Gums’

Where peppermint gums lean over water,
and birdsong twists and hurries over trees;
where the shore laps with small, untidy waves
and light condenses into sudden glare,

there I see you leaning—you are bent
over water, rinsing a chequered shirt—
a small stream trails back into the river
from your hands; and a small amount of froth

gathers, that you have made. You are shouting;
you are lying on damp sand with your shirt
a turban on your head; you are silent
in shade, in contemplation; and you splash

from a long tree trunk, turning in the air;
you bathe in sun; you glance towards the gap
between treetops and sky. A tiny bird
dances neatly round you; a small caress

of wind plays on my cheek, and soon the bird
bends towards the river, after your form.
Now you seem only shade and light and noise;
now you have vanished, twenty years ago.