Poems from New Walk

Kingfisher on the Witham

Three sullen steps
ahead you saw him first.

And though you deigned
to give a branch by branch

account of where he hid
I couldn’t get my eye in

till he moved, low willow
to low willow. Later I

thought even you
could never dim

the flare of him
that swift, bright nib

rewriting patterns
in my winter head.

He flew, his breast
the colour of desire

but perching, turned
and ice extinguished fire.

New Walk Issue 9 Autumn/Winter 2014