cry of the black cockatoo

Languid fog clung to the valley like a sleepy child to a mother’s breast,

as if keeping it’s eyes shut could stave off the inevitable,

hold this perfect wet moment eternally

the valley too wished for time to standstill

trees proudly took up their posts,

confident branches reached like bold protective arms,

eyes turned downward to evade morning sun

black cockatoos draw syrupy slow circles against the green and grey light

their insistent cries a piercing warning above the morning rainforest chatter

I still hear them when they’re long gone

a bittersweet reminder

I cannot hold back the day

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