gulls

kite flying in bodega

I am red nylon and silk
tails flying, dragging, twirling
these great huffs of breath
blow against my bitterness
and bend my bamboo spine

up among the tippy hedren gulls
gray and soft white, beaks with pink dots
riding, bouncing, spiraling up thermals, invisible lines, tows, lifts
revealing the great scaffolding of the sky

three girl surfers, suits sleek like seals
the yellow oxalis grow where cliff meets sand
drinking low hanging fog and ocean mist
anemones contract and relax
(open long enough for poems to seep in)
human built shelters of wood and drifted logs are temporary
until the great arm of the ocean’s edge
reaches back out to reclaim in one sure gesture
the rushing rivulet is only a trickle today
and is easily crossed

all of us in love with the breeze
while awaiting the tempest
in our awkward dance with turbulence.

 

gulls