In an ivy clad fortress Fallen render reveals the outline of a bird. Drawn in pink plaster, Master of mortar. Trapped in the brick. Safe though from this gale that stirs us up today. It sits looking East Towards the sea.
There the clatter and hum of sail bells On Camberly Sands renders seagulls quiet Devoid of a landing platform and Lost for words.
Then crows Cry collaboration. A nation of black wings against A clear sky. Like solid drums unbeaten By time and weather.