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A Poem
Off the north west coast of Australia, oil and gas rigs are moved across the water in search of new drilling sites. This poem is about one of those rigs:
on the north-west shelf
by Margaret Muir
you come by night
sink into my waterbed
and listen for my sounds
my deep
my intimate
you know my contours
cracks
and run your pointing finger
through my sandy hair
soft flowing
sensuous
explore my cavities
and meld in me
swaying my gentle rhythm
to the moon
you come by night
to satisfy your need
and then move on
leaving
me empty
ruffled
swaying
still