How a scarf shaken out
ripples, folds around itself
and whatever air it finds,
the gulls are flocking
over the Tyne.
How, as dusk falls, they know
it's time to fly together,
knit their flickering stitches,
white against darkening sky.
After a day of solitary soaring,
suddenly they are tribe.
How all things become more
than they are alone
alongside another.
How driving home
to an empty house
triggers my longing
for edge and threshold,
the possibility of flight,
a scarf of shared air.
http://www.lindafrance.co.uk/
