Swept among seas that walk downwind,
beaks and feathers wheel to hook and pick.
Skimming low, fulmars heel and spin
speed. Their twines knot the world to its quick.
I learn to listen with my skin.
Gusts kiss me, whispering their cold.
Caressed in tempos that whitecaps kick,
rust scours my vessel, fills her holds.
She presses into a surface nicked
by birds feeding where salt unfolds.
Fulmars
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Your Life Is a Poem
In the new episode of ON BEING, " Your Life Is a Poem ," poet Naomi Shihab Nye talks about growing up in Ferguson, Missouri and o...
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