Where the Lonely Gull Will Be
The rivers flow down to the sea,
Piling silt upon some forgotten shore
Where the lonely gull will ever be…
Lonely myself, I wander there for ease,
Finding keepsakes among things washed ashore.
The rivers flow down to the sea,
The sky above sweeping off into eternity,
Above the sound of the breakers as they roar.
Where the lonely gull will ever be,
I wade almost trance-like into the foaming sea,
Towards a beckoning hand and a face that implores.
The rivers flow down to the sea,
As I stagger onward, upright as any tree,
Then the sun glints once, and the figure is no more.
Where the lonely gull will ever be…
Still I chase that spirit, so ethereal and hauntingly
Calling and calling me back to the sea once more.
The rivers flow down to the sea,
Where I and the lonely gull will ever be…
© 4/22/97 D L Harris
An earlier version was Published in Writer’s Cramp in 1998