Kingfishers

Clear water soaked up through the grass -
a creeping flood between the river and the gravel pit.

The beached boats rang cables against masts
as grey clouds poured towards the sudden sun

and its thick strips of double rainbow.
While the town rumbled with a working day

we walked on the flooded path.
We ached with sudden loss after years of pain.

A kingfisher’s tropical colours
lit dripping ferns under the railway bridge.

Further round the slow bend of the grey river
we walked on wooden bridges over filling ditches -

droplets splashed up from cracks between planks.
We heard the whirring wings of kingfishers,

looked up to see two of them, black against
brightly lit clouds. We looked back down

to glowing willow beds each sunlit twig
wet with rain, the pain in our faces twisting

into the wind, our faces tingling, our bodies
moving slowly home after the darkest months.