On watching a kingfisher at Newport Beach Back Bay

Above the estuary, 
on a blue-steel pole,
the kingfisher leans out and drops.
With a bow and open winged curl,
she recovers her ladder of air, and climbs.
For a few everlasting seconds,
she claps her wings with speed,
and stays, furiously stationary.
Then folding mind and wings behind,
she dives—a gathering gale, a dread arrow—
her crown and thick neck split the water,
and her razor body is entombed.

In moment she is pulled free,
and rises like Isis into the blue heaven.


Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *