Upon the headland is my place
where seabirds wheel and turn apace,
a-screeching windblown tales to me
of distant lands and distant seas,
of sparkling beaches, gleaming quartz,
of strangers and of foreign ports,
of shark and serpent, kraken, whale,
of ships that foundered in the gale,
of sunken vessels, bones picked clean,
of hagfish writhing and obscene,
of ocean currents, plankton’s bloom,
of those that spawn beneath the moon,
of coral reef and rainbow hue,
of lava and volcanic flue,
of devastating waves and tides,
of those who lived and those who died,
Yet little does this mean to me
as I stare silent out to sea,
where seabirds wheel and turn apace,
upon the headland is my place.