Warm air snowed with floating pollen,
Colpate and sulcate,
First scents of pine and wild grass.
The flotsam and jetsam of spring.
In a tattered notebook she sketches,
Perfect Kookaburra on redgum,
Upon cedar easel, with flaking legs
Nesting Lyrebirds in dark wood.
At twilight she shows me, through chaos,
Andromeda and Indus and later,
Cupping my ears with soft hands,
She guides me to Lyra and marks me Aquarius.
Naked by Firelight she moves,
Soft mounds and aching curves.
A fleshy flicker through flame.
Calling me into her, my cosmic muse.