Not far from my home is a place
I come every time when I walk;
a space just to see nothing changed.
Ships go by and the ferry leaves port;
people wave. The sea wears the colour
of lead or is blue. Sometimes green.
Seagulls decide not to be fed
by passengers throwing pieces of bread,
enough to feed all. The birds are not keen.
They stay circling over my head,
maybe just for a talk as they
might be messengers and you sent them off.
If I listen with care I may know
what it is that you’re trying to say,
what is was that you had to go.