I want to feel pure the wind
Glazed by dark narrating shadows
Among casuarinas tempered by sea-salt.
I want to see brown the hawk
Unrelenting beautiful death-dealing
Break open the unsuspecting sky.
I want to hear forked the tongue
From an uncoiling body tracking
Lusty crickets in the loam.
I want to touch blue the haze
Dimming Karimon, over-reach
Unknotted sloped to possible mysteries.
I want to taste sharp the petai
Straight from the curling pod
To hold the village in my mouth.
I want these five beginnings.