Over Doughty Street

Over Doughty Street
         this white gull glides
its wide wings
         motionless
a vehicle merely
         for its eyes that peer
in through the window
         where I’m sitting
at a desk on the fifth floor
         It veers in a wide arc
and returns this time
         closer to the window
its wings still not moving
         nor its beak
just its eyes
         that appear to look
deeper than ever
         into my soul

What can it possibly know
         this streamlined beauty
what can it possibly feel
         what curiosity drives it
forward and onwards
         in its day to day
what traces of perception
         remain within its brain
what sense of awareness
         has brought it to this state
of satisfaction with its life
         which it pursues with all
the nonchalance of those
         that nature has taught to fly ?

John Lyons