Just when you flashed it, the summer rains came down.

In abandon as an ether,

The rainforest drops her argumentation.

Warm streams slip down swollen streets.

On the portico, a black cat

Ponders his next pawprint –

Then whoosh! Buoyed,

Lifted from the horizontal,

Supersonics strut down every direction.

Everywhere they say,

we’ll meet tonight at the Jungular Ball,

Where drunk crickets creak,

Fiddles akimbo, floating on their backs,

Jaguars jamming jags in a bag,

And the ear’s black mamba sambas through your limbs,

Your ripe bunched alto –

Then the Lyrebird drifts in, sits in, drifts away,

And the whole monsoon fades.

Silenus with a nymphet curled into a conk.

’Hautboy Orpheus snug in the susurrus.

And we too are somehow weightless, still.

Back, the wobbling streets come back to life,

The traffic skulking back, no reason to lay low now.

Summer night weight, rainwater

Rushes for the gatemouth drains.

Down where the driveways stretch

the ditch stones rock and rest

With the best of their kind’s

Dry indifferent difference.

I swim like a fish in this midnight mezzo,

And you are also weightless, still,

coming back to life through prose,

barely sensing the sky recede,

floating on your back,

your monsooned breast still settling back,

decked with beads of sweat –,

better than diamonds, aren’t they?