From the dry scales of the iguana resting
across my exposed neck, to the
wild perfume of the native crimson flower,
to the excited chanting of, "Bula!"
and whispered awe of "Americans!" –
Be still; be still my tumultuous heart
The velveteen wallaby, cradled
in my arms and suckling my fingertips;
not noticing the absence of her departed mother;
the curious Joey nuzzling my leg for more
pellets; thanking me with delicate grooming –
Be still; be still my protective heart.
Across the cerulean Pacific, across the Bush,
through the temperate rainforest,
gliding across the Flying Fox,
blurring past Ancient Witnesses of the Kiwi –
Be still; be still my runaway heart.
Returning to the arrogant West of Intolerance,
choking on stifling heat and dust that coats
my parched throat with sweltering heat.
Landing in a terminal, crowded with dreams and lies—
Be still; be still my ashamed heart.