Seagull
I love that Seagull.
come and meet me at my port…
She speaks to me through a piercing stare
My waves aren’t mine
rather freckles of the light
resting in the grey parchment
underwater
below your eyebrows
sleeping restless between your eyes
Like a crescent moon
Your eyes, your eyes
never turned no one to stone
For the stones
they had been cracked and opened through their scars
sculpted
from red jasper
and the lava
from it’s core
Look! another seagull
here it goes
flinching at the reflection on the floor
racing onto another’s prey
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Pray, pray prayers
made from stones
into each unweaving wave
And look at those mysterious birds,
they go …
like a gun
Pum Pum…!
Like a gun
propelled into the perception
of corridors
behind locked doors
watching black cats
scratching restless
at the fourteen sides of the moon
The gulls appear
again they fly
into a never-ending dance…
Tell me darling, what can you see?
Is it the hunter or the hunt
that makes each other dance?
