Albatrosses

White wings reach to the wave's face,
turn to themselves in momentary mirrors,
never touch but know the wave with wing tips.
Such birds sever air
with a raucous cry,
with a scimitar beak,
feel the geometry of wind
as it turns from liquid slope,
seek whatever sustains
with eyes that never sleep.

They fold and fall to the deep,
for breath after breath are gone from view,
search amid shadows of the sea,
where other hunters prowl
with restless hunger.
Fish in muscular shoals
run to what destiny awaits them,
know their own version of the falling light,
the cavernous vaults of waves,
and scatter
as the plunging bird
bursts through the glass wall.

Fish in steel-cold streams
apprehend all with the eye that never wakes,
feel with their skin wave's flux,
currents that stir the ocean's face,
swim with shark and whale,
with the bowel propulsion of squid,
the jellyfish with blank mouths
and ghostly limbs.

Seized by bird's beak
the unwitting is brought towards light,
with the swiftness of thought
a sliver of silver pulled into blue,
the thin air uplifting fragile wings.




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Colin