A GULL WAS THE SEA WIND, BLOWN BALANCED GRAY

                                   A GULL WAS THE SEA WIND, BLOWN BALANCED GRAY,

                                   

                                    Across the mast alone, through the thick high

                                    Smell of ship night into friendless day.

                                    The forest gave no point of compass; by

                                    Wounded spring rocks I stood alone to ask

                                    A windward bird to find a friendly sky.

The prairie grass was wind that hid the blast

                                    Of endlessness and closed the only face

                                    I saw with lines of loneliness. . . the mask.

                                    The mountains should have been the end, the place

                                    Of summits, solid rock and winds that bend

                                    The stifled hearts of men to other men embrace,

                                    For only beauty, clouds likewise ascend

                                    In search, not knowing what can make them free,

                                    And aimless, leaving, pass without a friend.

                                    For nought but beauty, clouds ascend

                                    Alone, and leaving, pass without a friend.