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.