pink and silver birds throat be
chirping, churning tide
welcome spine of glossary
defiant will of time
and who we seek on deck with cheer
return to us in hue
of bleakest black the moonlight dear
a vessel worn right through
offstep with dance of ocean leg
stomach brew of bile
held in arms of lovers stead
rest deep the beast of wild
hung around a captains tongue
the language of a star
cradled ’til the burning sun
on endless thrashing tar
whistle ’til the deadlight rings
a ghostly milk of green
brought back by the coward thing
of birdsong yet unseen
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Pink and bird straightaway conjured the image of a galah.
“Ocean leg” brought to mind sea gulls and albatross.
And curious about discovering and learning the language of stars
and possibly developing a star-voice. Brilliant!
The curious mind strays at green milk to Luke Skywalker in exile.
And hence the truth that there is always a birdsong yet to be heard.
I love hearing interpretations of writing! Thank you for reading 🙂
The ebb and flow of this one placed me on the sea. Well written and great flow.