The seagull

The seagull that carries the skies on her wings
Is cutting the space over bridges;
She sings:
Her call both wild and hauntingly bold
Is stringing the wind and the waters below
The dark heavy salmon that streaks through the waves,
The slender pine trees enveloped in haze,
The daunting abysses and snowcapped peaks,
The fisherman’s boat that groans and creaks,
The narrows and straits, sleepy islands and bays,
And seems that the time itself is under sway:
No memory, sorrow, but water and flight
And tremulous lips and the triumph of night.