gannetry

at last
to a ledge at the edge of the earth
a sheer drop
waves dash the rocks below
white noise between stations
the smell of guano carried on the breeze…

a long journey ends here –
along old migration routes
to this windswept corner
of western Europe
and the pull of the long midsummer days
and the light midsummer nights

evenly set on islets and stacks
bickering, squabbling
guarding personal spaces
this gannet city never sleeps
and the silver fishes swim in the sea below