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)