BY ISI UNIKOWSKI
the little paper aeroplanes of your sleep
I have witnessed and rehearsed your things’
slender defection, as if the moon’s paparazzi flash
through the blinds made negatives
of our lives’ tiny Penates:
that white square
that will fall if the door handle turns
is not a blouse
that long, smooth box
left too close to the edge
not your glasses case
rockpools over which I stumble
toward morning’s long shore
not your shoes
a tray opens its hand, its unkempt premises
no longer able to hold the sift
of diffident, indifferent years.
No matter how slowly I move amongst them
my Balinese dance between furniture, I betray
their fidelity, their regret for us, our hard edges
at my touch their banked life awakens
from starlight’s gilt album.
Isi Unikowski is a Canberran poet who has been published both in Australia and overseas.