Downstream from where the girls come to bathe
I lift rocks to stir the janga,
casting my net and a hopeful eye
toward the pool where she stands, like Eve,
glistening in sunlight and water.
We have danced this dance of coincidence before.
.
As if she weren’t perfection and purity,
she makes a pageant of washing her figure; firm,
rivaled only by the salute of my own flesh,
hard and blue like the mahoe tree.
I am Adam and her presence beckons.
Together we could populate the earth.
.
My catch is small; my desire on a grander scale.
Hefting my pail and net, I wade to the shore
as she does, on a trajectory towards life.
We’ve danced this dance before, but only as prelude.
Today, the taste of creation permeates the air.
Our eyes touch and Eden is born on the riverbank.
.
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tongues of the ocean 