Time for an albatross poem from the Dutch writer Dèr Mouw

The sea flecks up clouds to where cloud banks stack,

the clouds rain seas into the sea below;

above the storm, borne on a breezeless flow,

the albatross drifts on its calm, bright track:

it hears far off the hurricane’s wild chase –

galloping through great troughs that dip and lift –

of lightning-folk who, keen to spoil this drift,

around the wave-tops let their torch-dance race;

it glimpses at a cloud-shaft’s bottom edge

the world-sea hammering, a white-green sledge;

and mainlands snap off at its pitch and toss...

above a double sea of clouds and ocean

pricked through with dancing torches, in slow motion

and steady sunlight drifts the albatross.