Gulls -
There is a gull here,
two twining necklaces of
charcoal and pale grey wrapped
against her whitest of feathers,
she stands away from the others
as different and rare, adorned,
a tapered nameless fragment
of the colony of gulls.
Along the jetty and up into the eaves
of houses they cluster together
and watch her, talk
among themselves, these
plain white birds, all the same.
She flies up into the wind, then turns
A slanted blade wing down,
dives and catches
her flash reflection
in silver waters,
Gentle pull of tide returning
wilder than the rest,
this is her place, her doorway,
She opens, lets out a long cliff of a trill,
coasts at the edge of the wave,
alone.