Sunday, March 15, 2009

Looking For Cockatoos


Such white bright smudging flight:
gracefully turning bodies of light
suddenly gone.

I scrambled for my book
to try to capture the image
and saw, again, the boy
staring intently
at the sudden soft yellow clarity
of the light
spilling across the evening and into his body
before he ran.

Twice the road
has plucked a friend from my life,
their smashed heads mangled.
No bird cry, or evening light.
Just something fleeting
that I managed to get down
and speak into the night.

I look for the cockatoos
but there's only one last bird
out there. Then it's gone into the trees.


6 Nov 08

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