Cyclopsitta diophthalma coxeni

For Jen

 

Look for the tell-tale signs of our existence.

Half eaten purple fruit dark as a shark’s eye

Or the bruised thumb of an adult human,

That falls with Newtonian grace; an invisible

Thump; a musket ball falling onto the forest’s

Soft eiderdown floor. Gravity dents the fabric.

A small emerald feather starfishing in a hiking

Boot’s artificial lake, like green ink released into

A beaker; its fuzzy tendrils unfurling like a foot.

If your close encounter is more than this, if you

Have spied the fist-sized parrot skulking in tree-

Tops, or looked into its beak as it shears sugar-

Laden skin; you have written a rare communiqué. 

A love letter so personal, it ignites at the touch.