Gull

You near Ness from far inland First you hit pine, then you hit sand Then the sky goes grey from the glare of the sea Out there then, lonely, flat, old East wind like a knife, spartan, cold Eerie for its absence of feature The seabirds cry, the spit moves in the storm like a creature The gulls, the black-backs, the ghosts (The gulls, the black-backs, the ghosts) (The gulls, the black-backs, the ghosts)