The sea gulls— who fly in wanton To the horizon, are a spirits Calling, are sea songs falling To my mind they falter— as I Have known such cozen to the sun That falls each day nor do I see It rising. My world is weighted, Under, pass the lining of the quick, By the mounted cloud which hangs silver Over the plated night. The owl, Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes The lids, tied to crescent holey Whelm of malevolent moon,
Praise over me, with wooly wings, Is silent as shadow. I may strut or run But they do come as the shadows will With cahooting sun, and the blotting Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro— The days feign and heaven pales under The wake of the luna sea.
In darkest daylight I shamble toward the flat horizon Where the seabirds fly, till their ends, I take two-faced my faulty comfort As I see them, falter, falling, yet never Do they touch the gloaming ground.