Sailing home in the early evening,

Sailing home from Maine,

A seagull borne on the wind hung near,

Then curved away again.

The wake ran back, and the smoke blew thin,

The sun was red and gold,

And a seagull stirred some memory

I touched but could not hold.

Something about the world's slow spin,

And the moon around it going,

And the bird that did not move at all,

Though the air was lightly flowing.