The seagulls went from egg to adult
on the flat roof
below the kitchen window
The Sunday bells cascade and fall
and tumble across tourists
They spread their wings and they are
huge
unclean
of lice and rodents redolent
You push your arms into a poor mimicry
to solicit an embrace
because
they are here at last and once again
They’ve come to your entreaty
following the tumult,after
the dirty churches
you made for yourself,after
those dripping temples
you felt you had to build
And they’ve returned
to hold you now
to enfold you now
.
Niall Griffiths
Picture Nick Victor
.