maritime spring

arabesques
of bickering windward gulls
mad as kite tails
taunting as, to my delight,
a feather combs the updraft
and lands at my feet

do I hear hymns –
sweet songs of longing –
rolling forth
from the swollen belly of the sea
or just the slurp of surf –
froth thick as mother’s milk
come to tickle
the lips of the shore

.

.

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