Warm and Salt

The  air warm and salt
wind  blustering and pompous
not fooling anyone

clouds lazy, streaked
as if they can't
be bothered
forming  into clumps

and  the waves dash
ceaselessly
on  the rocks -
threads of white
fleck their bluegrey
backs

and  us
like seagulls circling -
our  feathers reach
but  never touch
at wing  stretch
we  eye each other warily
with  black-bead stares

and  I wonder why
you  wheel away
where  you went
when  you  ieft
I never really saw you go -

your  curves are wide and perfect now
wings  exultant

bereft
I can only watch
your  flight from below

powerless  to affect
the  result
of  such a clean trajectory.

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