Dreaming of Eucalyptus
Send me a postcard when you get there
Give me a ring when you get back.
Come spring we’ll get away from all this
and find some old island of sun and rock
in the loose weave of a hammock breeze
until we feel summer embalming us
and dream of eucalyptus.
You’ll be fragrant as a peach split by the sun
I’ll be pale shade for black island sand.
Stripped of our secrets and calm pretenses
we’ll dive deep and startle the Cycladean sea
and dream of eucalyptus.
Because you love the full moon God would
screw in a new lightbulb every night,
learn to speak Greek again, give up
modern ethics for ancient aesthetics
and dream of eucalyptus.
Promise never to forget yourself again
or the days when you were my next of sin.
I’ll remind myself you can never be mine,
and rebody myself from time to time
and dream only of you.
Richard Collins is a Zen monk who lives in Sewanee, Tennessee. Born in Eugene, he graduated in English from the University of Oregon. He has taught at universities in the US, Wales, Romania, and Bulgaria. His recent poetry appears in MockingHeart Review, Northridge Review, Shō Poetry Journal, Think, and Urthona. His books include No Fear Zen (Hohm Press, 2015) and a translation of Taisen Deshimaru’s Autobiography of a Zen Monk (Hohm Press, 2022).
