Double Sonnenizio on Two Lines by Ilya Kaminsky*

In a city made of seaweed we danced on a rooftop, my hands
were slippery dancers, your body a love-flung shorebreak

arched at the hips. Now a city of sand slips beneath us too, castle
rooftops battered by the tide's foamy tentacles: such trembly aggressors,

such lurchers of reclamation. We scrawl our story in lines
of seaweed cursive. One lover is a dollop of oyster, the other

a mother-of-pearl cradle, we cling tight as the dance-floor shifts.
Such stubbornness flings us through a city of kelp; it's complicated

among the olive pods. Stubborn love is like a leatherjacket, that tough city
swaggerer, or a porcupine fish filled with air--you suck up what the ocean hands

you, whether krill, or squid's black ink. The seabed is a rooftop, our story
made for flight: streaming from our gills in stubborn recklessness

these words of love are little bubbles, dancing, rising on a dare.
Such is the story made of stubbornness and a little air.

*First and last lines are by Ilya Kaminsky.

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by Dave Rowley

Poet and cartoonist Dave Rowley, originally from Sydney, Australia, is still coming to terms with the fact that he now lives in Seattle after following his wife Tina across the world. He has decided to make rain his friend. His poetry has previously been published in Andwerve.

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In a City Made of Seaweed received third place in the Interboard Poetry Community competition, May 2007.

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© 2007 Dave Rowley