So, I am wading through a La Nina springtime,
past the mangroves bathing in a swollen river
through sodden fields where puddles have turned to
pools to reflect
the dusk light sky and grey-pink clouds.
After the rain
I am wading through floodwater
praying for an end to a muscular mind
tightened into
a fist of fury.
All around me, all types of post rain birdsong.
But I listen for the kookaburras, their unhinged cackle calls
like maniacal laughter, and I begin to
Unfurl.
Word upon Word 