In the whimsy of cockatoos, merging flocks

They are late this morning
a cacophony from the south east
two relayed arcs
boisterous in their shining
in axis out of a woad sky
shouting of pillage
where the pines topple into ocean
now an altitude of scythes
making delay a past
beat cumulous shields
converge for instruction
maul out the link
flailing from a lemon sulphur pavlova
to peel away in renewed certainty