© 2005 Kate Heidel
WINTER IN LORING
Seagulls rest in a close arrangement,
A galaxy on the dusty ice,
Round as tears, reassuring as
Loose beads to play with, left on a plate.
Their bird alikeness gratifies,
Repetitive, ancient forms.
Low a mist breathes round about them,
White minds, unpassioned mortalities.
The sight of them is at once
The gift and the sign of separation.
I want to cup each gray gull offertory
In gloved palms but, like dreams,
They will have none of me.
All work is property of Kate Heidel.
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