Gulls at Night
Awake is sleeping fast while still awake
in this vacated harbour town of squalls
where thousands stir if several curse the night
and gulls dispute the wrecks of cod and spud.
A dream’s no dream and nightmares lap and lurk
around the idle swing bridge, under lamps,
when brittle sirens break the patterned din
of seabirds marking out their blind terrains.
Some loneliness is more when by the sea
against the smoke house, through the undead crowd
or in the withered souvenirs of how
a few may graft where those that fly, hold sway.
Will Daunt
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