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  Kaye Aldenhoven

If you were here I'd make love to you.


The coming down of the Magela

after the first storms,

we chased that front of water all day.

It surged slowly,

calm in the surety of its fulfillment

trickling unevenly into dry spaces

filling hollows, spilling, collecting

pushing the debris of the Dry before it.

The hot sand gasped,

giggles of bubbles escaped

as the water soaked deeper.


Beetles dragged their sodden carapaces

onto the island havens of your legs

the swirling froth tickled your skin

you laughed and rolled in the rolling flood.

The swell of water

gouged the sand from under your hips

rolled you roughly along

dragging you underneath the paperbarks

the luscious wet warmth

tangle of sand, water and your hair

your grazed knees.


In the stone country

a taut pod explodes, kapok floats

king fisher dips into dark pool

the coconut smell of rock fig

Yamitj calls out from the escarpment

yams grow

the waterfall drops, stops, falls again

Black Walleroo leaps the gap.



sucking mango juice

the perfume of pandanus fruit

the gurgling cackle of a Koel

pursued by her mate

golden-eyed frogs on lily leaves

flying foxes vibrate

then fold their silky wings.


A thousand whistle ducks lift and turn.

If you were here I’d make love to you.



  • Koels are large birds who call up the monsoon clouds
  • Yamitj is a grasshopper from the Creation, calls from the escarpment when yams are ready for eating
  • flying foxes vibrate their wings rapidly to cool themselves


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