Return to your role as a gull,
Wings spread on thews of wind
That sweep the foaming terraces of the sea,
Ride under the pier where i pace the margins
Going nowhere like the pylons of pulverized shells.
Once we were light in a fiction of waves,
In a scansion of birds, flocks and one horizon,
Soothed at last by the Atlantic's unrest,
A rhythm we knew that made the heart stagger.
—with a phrase by Derek Walcott
