Fatherbird perched on the country’s frozen edge.
England! Bridlington Bay –
He glanced from side to side
and the wind blew away each glance.
The sea with its iron-grey breadth of thought –
surely the sea would freeze?
Fatherbird – and a second bird – and a third:
It’s an opportunity for us.

Then we can return.
The sand was a field of snow, strewn
with the sea’s chill gifts. They’d flown
with the valued cargo of themselves,
light-weight but strong. Fluffed up their feathers
for warmth. It was their choice.
The sky was a country of its own. All around them
the seabirds wheeled and cried and laughed.