In the half-lit dawn
a dozen lorikeets are busy breakfasting on spiky red bottlebrush blooms.
How they manage to swallow anything is a mystery
for they never cease chattering to each other.
An incredible tongue, keetish, full of subtle gurgles,
murmurs, squeaks, squawks, whistles, craws…
There is hearing happening here
but no listener can be found.
Methinks the lorikeets are likewise
yet their conversations are clearly a dialogue
and often a duet.
I love the way they stop for a snog,
whispering their sweet-nothings awhile
then heading back to the tucker-task.