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
Boardwalk Fortune Teller
Borne up by priestly hands beyond the dark
The clean oblation of the harvest moon
…
The Final Match
My very breath seems evidence of You.
My pulse throbs with a Spirit not…