The gull is lonely
in vigil
like wind blown
seed
nested in an
impossible place,
a sentry
flowering at the palace gate,
or the piper when
the last post of the day
has been muted
by darkness.
These rocks are
not resounding
with the barking
of birds
the clashing of
wings
and stumbling
landings.
The waterfalls of
their litter,
evidence of
occupation,
in quiet
stalactites of white
reach for the
cleansing sea
in silence.
First to return,
or last to leave,
the enigmatic
gull
is lonely.
No comments:
Post a Comment