the seagull

It was only part white; the seagull

that swooped down on us nearly

brushing us with its wings, but in my head

I saw this ghost of a bird, shadowless,

a white absence, blind negative

in the light of the lake. No reflection glides

over the water where it flies, weightless,

no sound from its beak.

And though you say they look all the same,

for me it is unique. I see

how it speeds out of the distance,

gathers weight and darkens

till it meets its own blackness, grows

into lustre; mew, gull, seagull

that quickens the heart, as it sweeps

towards the sunset, its shape ringed with gold.