Kerri Shying R # 23 - yamanha Bilirr ( together with the white-tailed black cockatoo)

yamanha Bilirr *

black cockie’s back chatting to itself swaying at the tippy top

of bamboo green   the blunted head  continuing some  argument

started back at Blackbutt or in the bush up there at Bull Street

I can’t do much but sit             it is the magnet of the air   too big to be

up there  down here so close to me  alone             in the evening when they wheel down

in the summer            they attend the place in pairs    it is the wrong time

a mid-day   in the autumn  

we are here  causing or swimming in the thin sour soup inevitable  death fear

I will wait

to hear what you have to say    see no branches thrown when I know

your beak can strip that wood              used to come and tear the limbs off

Christmas Bush     pelt it down the street for fun at Tighes Hill           

 today we  sit              we sway              the cream of your neck

 the hard length of the claws    the voice

I don’t know what to say     here with you my known companion

 sweet the sun the sky the earth the words inside my skin occur recur 

 it takes us both to recognize the place we find ourselves within

despite the notional despair  the thickness of the air   the rapid fire  of challenge  to declare   what    choice  is made in this inseparable life  no surprise then

 the two halves of my head

don’t match             and all the birds are black             and white  I am thinking

it will rain tonight

*yamanha Bilirr

together with the white-tail black cockatoo