He sat alone on his perch
On a black telephone wire
The sun was coming up behind
It set the lake on fire.

His brown-red head was turned sideways
As if he thought or searched
For truths of life
The hows and whys
Or maybe his breakfast.

His eyes half-shut their beady black
Now turned to wise dark-brown,
His beak which normally seems too heavy
Looks distinguishing when pointed down.

The cars on the nearby road
Did not appear to disturb him,
He simply sat and thought and thought
While the morning breeze ruffled.

The kingfisher sat and looked or thought
And I was about to move on,
When he seemed to sense something I couldn't
And then



-a flash of brilliant blue-











he's gone.