Unfinished
They sing best
just before dark
when a chill
gathers and begins
to settle the shadows,
currawongs
trailing their laments
in long ribbons
of sound
high in treetops,
then off out of ear,
unfinished,
leaving longed for notes
unheard and silence
expanding into spaces
where the end
should be.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
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