The Black Headed Gull

You pointed it to me—always there—you said,
it was on the same stone as the days before
but today it seemed to take all the brunt of the wind.
I wondered how the tiny legs could stand so firm,
while waves boomed over, shooting spray.
I took in the full stops of its eyes.
The posture of quiet. The presence.
I tightened the towel to my chest
and cast the last glance.
We turned a bend of the coast
and left it behind.
Things either are or are not
and some can simply persist.
I thought about faith.

•••