The Gannet

The flight – the gloried rush of piercing joy

Across the glinting, sun-smiled waves to skim

Sharp as the pointed arrow of His grace,

Into the full abundance which is Him.

Then from joy’s height to fall, swift as His love,

Into the ocean, fathomless, unknown.

The offering of the self – fierce, absolute,

Where every last defence is overthrown.

And is this terror? No, it is delight

Into the boundless bounty so to fall,

And find all sustenance is waiting there

For at the downmost point is given all.

(I found this poem this morning in an old notebook. I have no idea when I wrote it, but probably in New Zealand, about 10 years ago, when we saw the gannets plummeting out of the sky to fish)