The Magpie

20 November 2017 12:00 AM

Ever feel your tendrils rising, the hairs on your arms tingling?

Lifting its wings the bird walked the edge of the branch, cawing, calling,

Head bent,

Where are you,

Hairs on edge,

The hairs on the cat’s back rose, his tail twice its size

gotta make myself, big,

she is standing on the wall, the stone wall,

wondering what is the point of these boundaries any way,

nature will out,

rains come; the wind sweeps away her discontent,

the leaves dance

the birds dance in the air, darting in and out of each other's path

sunlight, the tree shivers,

my heart thumps as I reach up to grab hold of the vine,

are there any berries left?

the bird got there before I did,

CAW CAW the crow called,

and the lyre bird imitated the sound of the saw, the car backing up discharge

 

she was sitting on the black iron wrought bench, holding the handle of the parasol between her gloved fingers

they watched the trumpeter swans in the lake, the circle pond

his hair was dark, and his eyes, well there was a twinkle in them, but at the same time, it was like walking down a hall, looking into his eyes,

and the dogs ran across the grass,

the cat ran up the tree, and the rabbit hid in the bushes,

it's the magpie who is storing its shiny trinkets in the bower within the bush, I know they say magpies don't do that, really but I don't believe it,

once a love of shiny things grabs hold of you, you don't want to let go,

the stars in the sky are calm tonight,

the milky way is like a shawl in the black sea

wrap it around your shoulders and drift off into the cosmos,

Persist in the dreaming...