after
Dimitri Tsaloumas
and
the rainbow lorikeets address me
in voices St Francis never heard
later – the rainbow itself communing –
sun, cloud, speech of the sea
last the rain itself
a rhythm
for the shelter of dreams
the sunset lives on in the bird
as hearth to day
the dream winding dawn
out of hills
yet to light
who is it
wakes the birds who bring
the day from memory
?
who is it folds
the wings to night
?
I simply love this poem. Love it.
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