The kirlian singe
of a kingfisher
wins me round ,

slaps me from
my prole malaise

his cobalt-button, blazing buckshot,
nervous surge of gaudy purpose,
willow- hurdled Catherine wheel
whirring ...

is something of the infinite
disposed in our positioning

both impish lairds of nook and fen
don hedge-smoke caps
of leafy tan

by coveting his oxygen,
I'm coming up
for air too quickly

bursting round
the cockling brook
of rain-sung river bends