Monday, 19 August 2013

The Hope of Wings

The girl forces the gull’s beak open with 
A spoon and starts to scrape the oil away.
Rampant the sky’s colours, legend and myth
Sustain the attention of those beset by
Traditional hungers, but now I foresee
A bird-emptied sky, the world’s shores
Hilled with crippled things, the thick, black
Smothering of oil murdering the hope of wings.
And this girl – she can’t be into her teens –
Would, if her working now is a guide,
Spend all her years remaking these stunned birds
Littering the sea, dead flops among stones.
She’d give a white-winged creature to the sky
Before black tides drown mere human words.

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