You wake up in the morning
   and fall out of your bed
   mean cats eat parakeets
   and this one's nearly dead.
   you dearly wish the wind would shift
   and greasy windows slide
   open for the parakeet
   who's colored bitter lime.
  
   open the window
   and lift into your dreams
   lately, baby
   you can barely breathe.
  
   a broken wrist
   an accident
   you know that something's wrong
   you fold the leavings of your past
   no one knows you've gone.
   the sunspot flares of the early
   nineties light up your wings.
   and scan the shortwave radio
   it's tracking outer rings.
  
   the tectonic dispatcher shifts
   to smooth the ocean floor
   and flattens out to warmer winds
   of Brisbane's sunny shore.
   where buddhas tend to mending wrists
   a tea made from the leaves
   of eucalyptus fragrances
   and coriander seeds.
  
   you wake up in the morning
   to warm Pacific breeze
   where mean cats chew on licorice
   and cannot climb the trees.
  
   open your window
   and lift into a dream
   baby, baby
   baby starts to breathe