What if that leaf was a kingfisher
caught out of the corner of my eye
hovering above the river,
the autumn colours flapping in the late
afternoon’s light, a momentary
if ultimately teasing flight? But what
then of all the drowned birds
dead on the river’s bed; and where’s
the surprise in spotting one from
thousands on a tree amongst the other
thousands of trees in a forest of feathers
in this autumnal trickery?
And don’t get me going about the
complexities of Spring and summer.