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 !