A Postcard From The Isle of Wight

Beneath a frail and famished
February heaven
Seabirds pirouette and plunge.

And from a hessian bag,
A woman dressed for winter,
Casts bread upon the water

That reaches the horizon,
Where a tower stands alone:
A marking tool for sailors

And a lure for fishermen
When the warmer weather
Swims up from the south.

As the woman walks away,
A cormorant returns:
The lean and leathery sentinel

Who maintains an empty vigil
Beneath a frail and famished
February heaven.