The Winter Wings of Gulls—a Sestina in Progress: Day 2, Stanzas 1-2

Previous version of the first stanza here. Lines keep being revised as I go. The title will probably end up changing too.

The Winter Wings of Gulls

When their wings of winter begin to drift, pile up,
turn the sky and the salt marshes’ blue pools white,
when their cries ache like late-January mornings deep
in joints, seep as north winds do through old cracks
to settle into bone, I can’t admire how gulls turn
overhead, disconsolate, impatient, hungry all the time—

it’s the same ache that fastens all of us to time,
that stretches taut through our days, pulls us up
out of our beds in the night to pace and turn
to sit stiff upright at screens with fingers white-
knuckled at keyboards while age’s incipient cracks
slowly chasm in our skin to sink our beauty deep

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
This entry was posted in Art is lies, Autumn, Consciousness, Creativity, Epistemology, Gulls, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Language, Memory, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Process, Serial, The Brain, The Sea, The Wind, Time, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to The Winter Wings of Gulls—a Sestina in Progress: Day 2, Stanzas 1-2

  1. Pingback: The Winter Wings of Gulls—a Sestina in Progress: Day 6, Stanzas 1-7 | Mumbling Jack

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