Kingfisher

"...it is I myself, come from the wreck,
now telling you my fate."
                 ~ Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book XI


Halkyon the name of this jewel:
          feathered bird born of the open  
                    sea— after the gods, jealous 
as ever, changed her from her flawed 
          mortal counterpart. And halcyon 
                    the windless pause, a bright 
space in the landscape of affliction, in which 
          her widow's plaint might now perhaps 
                    begin to turn into other kinds 
of song— Accuse the ones who hand out 
          sentences with no warrant, no hope of 
                    revocation; with prejudice 
and the appetite for gleeful recrimination. 
          Why should the human aspiration to live 
                    as the more fortunate be 
transgression? To build a heaven of our  
          numbered days, to love and hope  
                    without fear of thunderbolts,  
or war, or separation— to know  
          that fire is our birthright, instead of 
                    something we have to steal.