Short Zinc Poems

Zinc White and Blue Ultramarine

I hear currawongs threading
their melodic calls through
the trees, sewing a dark 
into the cold air.
And far below,
a flock of white cockatoos 
screech their noisy chaos 
along the deepening shadows
of the valley floor. 

They seem like dabs 
of zinc white escaping
from a painting, sprouting
wings to lift them
from the canvas 
and fly them to where
they flicker on the edge
of the unseen, 
before dissolving forever
into the distances
of blue ultramarine.