talking bird

the talking bird
      to Jack Le Baige


for years
you told the story
we’d already taken
well to heart,
fed like a cat
under the table
with our imaginings.

the tasman dark
with rain, the swell
skittering along
the shore.
the rivermouth
could’ve been the
night you’d just
woken from.

you were running
for school
in the shower’s
edge, the drops
gaining heavier,
heavier on the
breeze, cloud
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