A flock of gulls rises from a choppy sea,
hangs aloft in abeyance – a distraction,
the outpouring of a cut, winter’s anguish;
in the confusion, disarrangement.
What is always present, just further –
the background, the canvas – disappears,
as if it never was. When it is overlooked,
or overlayed, by gulls, for example,
the seen is always via a detour:
it has already been; no more smooth stones,
drifts of kelp on the shore;
and so life becomes a flock of gulls.
Even when you shut your eyes, dream: gulls,
gulls, gulls. As if there is nothing more to see,
as if the journey has finished;
yet it persists, always unfolding.
An opening, a way out: to see the flock depart,
and at the same time, the unending sea.
Ion Corcos was born in Sydney, Australia in 1969. He has been published in Cordite, Meanjin, Wild Court, The Sunlight Press, and other journals. Ion is a nature lover and a supporter of animal rights. He is the author of A Spoon of Honey (Flutter Press, 2018).Discover more from Ion Corcos.