THE WAVE OF A GRAY WOOL SCARF

Clouds cover the sun

The rest of the moon’s crescent

And the morning star

Screened through water vapor

Some light emerges

Subdued by the wave of a gray wool scarf

In the slow motion wind

Raises the leaves from their

Late burial

Lifts the wings of the gulls

Drift inland, flock to the edge

Of the brick building’s

Flat roof

Intrudes, cuts across the

Dim, gray air

     The squeal of the gull

     Lies below the clouds

     Above his face

     The shout of the gull

Raises his eyes

Tips his chin away

From the shrubs and the road.

© cmheuer, 2013