Seagull
Sea snakes he sees aligned
in darkest symmetry.
Winged fantasies couched random
and alluring midst the weed.
Wolf's head bloodstreaks,
with shining eyes of blue-green glass,
ensure no thing may pass
unseen along his shore.
As ever, the receding tide reveals
A new domain in which he struts and pecks
and ponders. At length he spies
an object small and white
and gleaming smooth in morning light,
a near translucent familiar shape.
His past and future plain to see,
a spectre of what will surely be.
His little kingdom turned to naught,
'twixt time and tide he has been caught.
Hollow, abandoned and wafer-thin,
this skull upon the shore is him !
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