Gathered on the rocks.
A coven of watery witches.
Eyes fixed on the dome of clouds, drying black on black winged robes as they watch the passing waves.
Rotating slowly in a graceful ballet.
Sunlight streaming through moisture-matted feathers giving rise
To hazy humid steam prayers.
They daydream of oily fish sliding down their gullets.
They meditate on the freedom of flight.
Millions of them diving as one into the belly of the sea.
Millions of them breaking the surface,
A cascading fountain of
BLACK, BLACK, BLACK!
Gathered on the shores of our lives.
Masters of all Worlds,
Observing our frail, feeble, flightless flesh passing by.
“What a pity” they think nodding to each other.
Keith Boyd 2013