Meditation 1

Serenity of stone,
dry at last after the deluge.
Dry blood colour,
kingfisher home.

Kingfisher hovers,
plummets, wallops fish
and swallows.
The bare bones of a poem follow.

The truth is not a shadow,
but the sun throws its outlines down.
No significance, just motion
of pen and pages in the wind,
the trembling shadow
of the hat-band flying away
from under my throat.

– Silke Heiss