Elegy for a Kingfisher

Down it darts, a kingfisher, a bolt of hunger unerring, an appetite driven,

in flight.

Halted even more quickly, little blue dagger,

cerulean awl,

In the clap of a frost-giant's hands.

Forever now perfect, this vector, this angle of glide.

Immaculate image, unchanging, the essence of fierce little diver,

its fire well caught.

Happy unending, held fast in the midst of your aim.