Thirteen waves: x.



You’re asleep
and waves of air
slide in and out your lungs;
five inspirations
for every snore of the ocean.
Once in a while wind
bumps the overhanging tree,
and we both turn over like a wave,
and your belly warms my back
with perfect timing.

Poem and reading by Rachel McAlpine CC BY 2.0, photo by Dave Young CC BY 2.0 via Flickr

Thirteen waves: ix.



The first penguin peels her voice,
and the shuffle inside the wall
is a field mouse
rushing an octave through.
When it snows on the mountain,
they feel like improvising.
The sea brushes our earlobes:
skeins and skeins of whisking tails
drumming with silk on the globe.

Poem and reading by Rachel McAlpine cc by 2.0, photo of Mt Taranaki by Denis Bin, CC BY-ND 2.0 via Flickr