“If Nal had looked up, he would have seen a
thunderhead of seagulls in the well of the sky,
All along the uncaring strip
of sand, a bedlam of lambent
tongues, silver and black, they needle
the air. Twist to form a needle
out of the glorious white strip.
The flock embroiders the lambent
cold breath, fills it with their lambent
levity. Dance on the needle
until the light comes down to strip
to strip their lambent pride and thread it through a needle.