In the air above my island flies a crowd of shining gulls that plunge to launch an accurate assault upon the eyes of the bold sailor falling under drench and hunger of the surf that plucks the land, devouring green gardens inch by inch. Blood runs in a glissando from the hand that lifts to consecrate the sunken man. Aloft, a lone gull halts upon the wind, announcing after glutted birds have flown: ‘There is more than one good way to drown.’ (3)
