Kingfisher

For weeks I waited
And watched, eyes patrolling the baldness
Beyond the reed beds and the rocks
Consoled only by the thought that

You were never really a poser
That except for those rare concessions
To farmers and fishermen
Between total eclipses
And the occasional cat-walk
You might not even exist

And then you came
Cutting a swathe through the centuries
With a sparkling confection
Of greenish blue and orange