Waves cradle the November ice that
Charms wrens into brides.
Winds rattle knitted twigs.
A broken shell...
Foamed jaws, weaving desperation
Into teeth, drag twilight from the
Shore,
As a chilled, gaunt crab stalks the
Tide's ribs.
Gulls haunt their own cries
Deep into March,
Following echoes among clouds.
Eyes from under driftwood search
Past midnight
And grapple dawn with
Snapping claws.
elysabeth faslund
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gulls-haunt-their-own-cries/
