woke to that unsettling feeling
the dream from last night was erased
nothing will bring back
that seed waiting to germinate

amongst the morning humdrum
the cape koel’s escalating call cuts through

a cuckold fragment      all night
searching for a mate
a call with no response
at the outskirts of the migration south
what drives it to repeat
this sterile journey
setting words on a page
no one will read

each year the weather flicks a switch
marking the change of season reliably
the journey from New Guinea
deemed complete at our suburb
pausing to call for a mate
scouting established nests
in which to secrete an egg
so the surrogate can concentrate
on your cuckoo
and you can return north

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