POEM

ODE TO AUSTRALIA

Your old cartographers,
such friends I wish
I had.

They drew maps,
pictures flipping the world
upside new.

People laughed
when I asked the same thing,
citing my age.

I know how old I am.
History doesn't care,
it lies.

Dealing with borders
as much as I do,
I laugh.

There is an origin of love.
It flows from me,
asking,

If the top is not the top,
it is just as much
the bottom

and what gravity
can deny its own illusion
that we should be

in love, falling,
deeper into our lover's eyes?