I will walk through the rain
and my neck will get longer,
more heron-like, for you.
Like a flamingo pinkens
as it threads the sulphur-thick waters
of the Serantibo,
I will bathe for you,
and as the shedding maple
feels constricted
by the city’s pavement slabs
I will grow leaves and be patient for you,
or crab-walk with an extra appendage
through the streets below the flames
of a dying sky to carry your groceries,
and I will bid you be happy,
be heron, be crab and flamingo,
as the world turns in its thoughts
and is intimate with you.

This is a corrected version of the poem which appeared in Magma 31, with apologies to the poet