xii.

It’s not the atmosphere
that wounds the gannet.
The air revolves in her wake,
she horns her wings,
the South Pole swivels
and gravity inflates.
The earth is an eyeball
lashed and lidded;
every stabbing shocks
the eyes that drive the beak.
The hunter, suddenly goosey,
bobs on the mound of water
that will blind her.

Poem and reading by Rachel McAlpine CC BY 2.0, photo by Avenue CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia.

Note: Gannets risk their lives when they dive. Whether they really risk losing their eyesight after repeated high speed dives, I have no idea — but that was a common belief at the time I wrote the poem around 1985. Please do correct my errors for me. And what a spectacular sight they are!