two kingfishers
dead herrings carried in their beaks
have me turn towards stained glass
of a window longingly used

my face bright with dream light
as I watch their plumage
ablaze with cyan and amber
they are gone and
I am a loner by the window

awake before dawn means
on the road with the first pinks of Thursday
the crows are a black band in the sky
turning south, they take the night with them

only five days older
I see her in my dreams, too
a picture on a screen, adorned with words
her poem I wish was mine
single words
powerful
simple
if only
I could
recall