Gannet

I'm led along the sea wall path by
a gold-white thread weaving a design over
the mouth with passes, shuttle-smooth; pauses
at vantage points. Against an ivory sky
its form — dramatically fringed with black —
resolves to three dark lines, becomes cloud,
sweeps back to scan sinewy depths. Swift as
a spear thrust, each dive loops up into the flight path —
a dropped stitch… With this glancing acquaintance,
the gannet knows the estuary as,
after thirty years, I cannot; it knows
the pure continuous moment as I
cannot; bestows the recompense of minutes
out of time — a soaring on light-drenched wings.