It must be the kingfisher
wakes at eight
surely that is the reason
for his frequent
interruptions
his call overhead
his teasing sweep across the pond
I want to think he knows me
remembers me
even if that’s not the case
he no more knows my face
than the ducks in the pond,
the swan in morning light,
the heron hiding in the marsh
But I sit a while anyway
in a softness of sun and pine
all of us old friends
just starting our day.
LISTEN: Belted Kingfisher (more info)
Poem ©2024, Jen Payne
If you like this poem, you’ll love the poems in my new book…
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