They say a kingfisher
Calmed the seas
With floating nests
Bringing with them
A break in the winter storms.
In the midst of our stormiest days
A kingfisher sat in a treetop down the lane.
Patient for his precise moment to leave
To say goodbye
To die with his boots on.
When his moment came, he was ready:
He flew towards the mountains,
Spending no excess.
He flew towards the sound of the harp,
While also plucking the strings.
He flew towards the day's end,
Beyond where we could follow.
We were not ready.
Now, each day we search the treetops,
For the blue and green in our mind's eye to flit before us
Corporeal again -
But it can never be.
The kingfisher has gone beyond the horizon,
And we wait -
For those promised halcyon days.