To a Modern Poet
A storm, a wind in the hollow skull.
(Thoughts going nowhere on a cold day.)
The toil of the sea, a circling gull,
a storm, a mind in the hollow skull –
a poem cries out.
But the thoughts annul
the sharp-winged force of the gull, the spray,
the storm, the wind. (In a hollow skull
thoughts going nowhere on a cold day.)