Cormorants embrace the sun
as if they are always standing on the brink
of departure, and like them,
we have been misunderstood;
the way we make our holes in the ocean
when only fishing for light.
There is so much suffering
in the search for a shore
before we reach one,
in the realisation of the knowledge
of nothing - the flight of what we thought
we knew. I think you are Odysseus
holding to a raft and I am a black bird,
a slick of oil with the sea for a pillow,
both leaves pitched on the arbitrary motives
of an imperfect storm.
I know you asked the afternoon for answers:
it is not the evenings that are haunted,
but the soft length of falling radiance
where three cormorants may pierce a psyche.
And I wonder what I can give you
when I have lost everything;
I could offer the sharp hook of my beak,
the roll and pace of the wave beneath me,
a pea-green eye to watch
shadows sink into the night.
Here the darkness becomes louder
in the growing absence
of the witness of sight
and how I miss you
and the afterglow
on the warmth of your horizon.
Written for my closest friend who sent me this song: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=xA_uWtbXnh8
Image from Pixabay. Other image on Twitter: https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ferdinand_von_Wright_-_Two_Great_Cormorants_-_A_III_1929_-_Finnish_National_Gallery.jpg