Seas.

CORMORANTS

All afternoon the sea was a muddle of birds,

black and spiky,

long-necked, slippery.

Down they went

into the waters for the poor

blunt-headed silver

they live on, for a little while.

God, how did it ever come to you to

invent Time?

I dream at night

of the birds, of the beautiful, dark seas

they push through.

Mary Oliver