In The Sky

Ethereal, glossy silk feathers drifting,

Asleep to lay in the stars through time, like a rakish swarm of chaos yet elegance,

Constellations providing consolation

To all whom have lost,

As we all have,

With our chins stretched toward the sky,

Allowing breath,

Taken in and never truly being let go, 

We may see them, ambivalent in flight with unease,

The glossy black cockatoo,

A  puissance of elegancy, proudly flawed, with feathers flared,

A state of individuality through tenacity,

And so when they’ve all left for the safety and cover of the stars, 

They watch us from above in testimony as we slowly deplete their species,

To beleaguer a troubled soul,

Enrapturing purities of a once bel esprit soul and mind,

Diaphanous veils of suffrage upon fallen faces,

An esoteric casing of confidential regret and fear.

When we next see the stars flared and swimming in seraphic mystery, 

We shall see them: the glossy black cockatoos.