Across the leaden sky A gull shooting a cry Hurried to his task Before the sky puts on his mask.
Nobody knew what his task was Except that his time drew to a pause And that he had to hurry because From the open he had to retreat.
The bird knew this but he was wayward Swimming in the airy wave, beak forward - Skating, flying, but always eastward - Heedless of the dark, like a poet.