By
Through the open hotel window, above
the river’s lulling sounds and revellers’ shouts,
kittiwakes cry, nesting on the art gallery.
I think of the oceans they have crossed
only to be here. Sometimes, when I
wake in the night, I cannot hear you breathe.
art gallerybreatheGatesheadhotelkittiwakeslullingNewcastleoceansrevellers’ shouts
Lesley Johnson
February 3, 2011What a marvellous notion – these poems set at the water’s edge. I like this one the best. It sings.