Wings straining to put the wind to flight
and limply turning then to glide
in crazed patterns of white
against a sky that cannot decide
between blue and cloudy grey.

Wings close-packed into its side
falling to the sea like light
-ning from a patch of broken sky, a stride
across the ocean, then back, a bright
and dripping acrobat at play.

Wings that beat the waves, a sight
of silver fins and scales that hide
beneath, quickly plucked up by the right
hand of the wind itself, who turns to ride
once more towards the coming night above the bay.

					1975