chalk streams

Brief winter sun of the flashing king streaking
waters that are waiting for wings. Ears are tricked
by the wind's onomatopoeia, kingfisher's colours
are streaked across the moon's shining spear.
Snow arrives winter is cutting its hair. I wonder
if the stream leaves white footprints after walking
in a dream to catch the moons blade wearing a tear.

There are blue glints, the kingfisher's courtship, the male
grips the gift of a fish to his mate. The intimacy
of otters as they stitch sharing the chalk's white thread,
the needle's eye widens as days lengthen. Somewhere
in chalk, there is a cache of each fish taken and every
cloud that passes.The night is arguing with itself, the snap
of thunder, bolts of lightning are its tears perhaps. Summer
clouds are slippers for angels.