you said while we waited for the bus
that spooned the bank of the Yarra which
had finally given up her muddy colour to
the sky’s heavenly onion
I didn’t mention that your teeth and lips had
taken on the rosy glow of wine wrapped ’round
curse after curse the way they always were
held me closely and complained
about cold wind over and over again
but it really wasn’t that bad at all
with the breath of you covering me
told me that the character Alma
had been named after the Spanish word
for Soul so
she was really an extension of someone else and
that was why you liked to play her part because
you often thought your soul had
once belonged to someone else and could have
even been the bus driver’s great grandfather’s first
but it was never fully yours and
even though I thought it sounded stupid at the time
it all makes sense somehow now when I think back
on that night we stood together there
under the ancient light of dying stars
kissing softly exposed and milky skin
and everywhere the albatross the sound of footsteps and the smoke
on some side-street in the southern hemisphere—
the lonelier half of this planet
Spencer Auten