Feathered creatures work the water,
while I watch.
I am eager to observe their day
and have left the busy street behind
to enjoy a moment’s stay.
At random, sometimes in pairs,
these (terns, I believe) sudden swoop and dive.
A colourful kite might do the same
when a tied on rag tail is
too short to control sway.
Watching the birds, I remember
a farm field fading from usefulness
where weeds rose victorious
and a fragile, stretched paper
kissed grey clouds, far away.
Who is it teases
out endless string, invisible,
from some tight wound ball (the way I did)
’til each of these birds I see seem
separate, unbound of earth, in free display?
My heart beats to a finite order,
riding ancient rhythm
that stretches now, thin and tight as string
but I choose to fly, choose to dream.
I am the sea-bird, doing what I do each day.
Robert On The Air 