Where Kookaburra Sits

As your heart shrinks away, mine pulls toward
you, reaching through the thick and fragrant air
grown heavy with the season’s scent, and there
begins its search through flowers’ golden hoard,
through snaking roots and balga’s narrow sword.
It tracks you through the grass before it dares
to lift its eyes amongst the trees and glare
where kookaburra sits, as if the lord
of all that he surveys, his armour blue
about his flanks, red splashed across his tail.
He sits alone, and so he doesn’t sing,
but waits for questions from one pure and true.
And there the heart may rest along its trail:
On bough, beside this lovely fisher king.


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