The beach stretched in a long
curve as far as the eye could see,
lapped by liquid sunlight:
laughter and music rose up on the breeze.
All were so completely lost
in momentary laughter and loudness and fun
that no one saw the storm swoop
down and devour the sun.
Already tidal creatures had burrowed
into the sand and disappeared
as the loud, wide wings
of the storm hovered and then drew near.
Before I left I watched
a gull on the faraway rock, wing torn
and hanging like a ship’s
broken sail in a storm.
Next day it was there still,
huddled against the brutal shock
of water and wind. And the next
day, too, when I took stock.
Till I dreamt that I watched
it perch on a ledge of the sea
swell and launch itself joyously into the sun.
I went out early this morning
to look again. It was gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem