Frogmouth

Tawny feathers deflect the talons of rain,
torrential and black; you grasp the well-worn
notches in the bark. Frogmouth, clench your little claws,
and hold your lips and eyelids closed – sitting
still and silent will protect from the salivating
predators. In your dreams, you're immortal
and blind as teeth penetrate your brain and
spinal column. Well, wait for miracle if you
like – after all, perhaps Rome was built in a day -
but your backbone is complex and goodwill and prayer
won't let you fly again.

Tawny feathers deflect the eyes of light and
the camouflage will deflect the worst of the hate. Perhaps
you really aren't alive; if you don't move perhaps your
heart won't beat when it catches in your throat. The
sunlight reflects in amber eyes and the soft voices
rattle your broken bones. It's funny; I never thought
you'd die like this; with ghosts of mice and birds circling
the wandering eyes of what once was a predator. Frogmouth,
I painted you in a picture but the vivid colours hide the
contours of your body, the love we made by water's edge
may always be a myth.