Archive
01/04/12 - (1)
Gliding
Strafing in squadrons of five, eight, or nine, Sometimes but one at a time, They glide, just inches above the gliding ocean, Those magnificently ungainly brown pelicans, Fishing for herring and mullet Gliding just inches below the turbulent surface, To nourish their insatiable craving for sustaining life, Poised to penetrate translucent layers of the sea's flesh, Searching for the exact coordinates of prey Gliding oblivious of their immediate fate, Let alone the whole ocean, as the birds glide closer, Until their ravenous brown plunges Adumbrate the sun gliding beneath the waves Gliding toward the rock-dotted, cliff-bordered shoreline, From which my gaze glides upward, once more, With the trajectories of brown pelicans gliding, gliding.
01/04/12 - (1)
|
|||
|
|||
