Where the sea gulls sleep or indeed where they fly br Is a place of different traffic. Although I br Consider the fishing bay (where I see them dip and curve br And purely glide) a place that weakens the nerve br Of will, and closes my eyes, as they should not be br (They should burn like the street-light all night quietly, br So that whatever is present will be known to me), br Nevertheless the gulls and the imagination br Of where they sleep, which comes to creation br In strict shape and color, from their dallying br Their wings slowly, and suddenly rallying br Over, up, down the arabesque of descent, br Is an old act enacted, my fabulous intent br When I skated, afraid of policemen, five years old, br In the winter sunset, sorrowful and cold, br Hardly attained to thought, but old enough to know br Such grace, so self-contained, was the best escape to know.