VITI LEVU

As I lay listening,
looking up at the delicate cathedral
of the lingering mosquito netting,
leftover folds of blanket
left my limbs cool
and my chest caressed
by the moonbeam shadows of an equatorial midnight.

I ran my fingers up
along the silky canopy,
thinking of the things I’d like to be,
And clumsily tore the thread-

A little thorn draws droplets, scarlet petals
dripping from my finger
blooming in darkness, scarlet hibiscus
crimson bromeliads, quivering blood.
Sensing the night’s entrance,
the landing pollen of night flowers on my eyelids,
the hummingbirds flitter in.
Leaves like tiny Chinese fans
they lick the dewy leaves.

Raindrop noises of rubbing palm fronds
why have you turned to a glossy green butterfly
that tiptoes on my skin?
Nylon sweet guitar strings ringing
I don’t know if it’s a bed,
or a softly strummed song I’m in.
And the fluttering,
The fan sweeping,
The girl outside the thatch is weeping,
Then laughing
and happy to see me
she’s the breaking of the kava drunk sun
smiling over the reef.