Gulls wave across the sky
bringing to my ear
the shell-snared song of the sea.

Trapped here – as far inland
as I could be – shrill cries
that stained my heart indelibly
through all my growing years
echo the fog-horn’s wail
on mist-dripped nights
when beyond haloed gas lamps
familiar lights were smothered
by the cold breath of the sea,
and seagulls cried
in a non dimensional space
looping their secret highways
through the sky.

Rivers of fog finger the valley,
the skirted hilltop towers
up there where the gull spins
where the sun shines
and the world is green and green.


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