Herring Gulls
A POEM
They quarrel in low tide mud
Over scraps of rotten food;
They rest on fishhouse roofs.
Retreating from feud.
They batter the air in flight,
Shrill-screaming at swifter thieves,
Swooping to carry off
What another leaves.
They circle on motionless wings,
Then ride a wind’s long rise,
Disdaining the distant dunes
And greedy cries.
Sea hunters again, they join
The endless offal chase —
Rapacious, yet seekers of sky
On wings of grace.
You May Also Enjoy
The Bell Ringer
He disturbs
The sleeping bells, the stolid sounds
Locked in the iron tower
That hold…
Adam’s Second Day (waiting for Eve)
For him, tomorrow is another world.
But still he’d like to bring a god to…
Thaws
Around our March balcony tonight
Fog closes its slight hand — illusive blue —