Gulls

the grip of winter is lessening
through pink-shot morning skies
I can hear the cry of gulls
renting the moist air

my bones shiver from the damp, from the cries
as if every important memory is found in their call
echoing inside me

Galveston Island, with brownies and bright sandy buckets
Swansea, Wales and creaking windows against stormy gales
Chicago, Illinois and...
waiting for winter to pass
snuggling deeper under the covers while light fills the sky

at every pivot point the gulls herald their arrival
I think it should always be this way for me

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