Treasure Island

Morgan Michaels


Seagull


Over the sounding foam
gliding in with no cry
from dimness rides a seagull,
yellow oars shipped-a
flap of sky
clenched in his beak.

Wobbley M reversing to W
reverting to M
all in a little twinkle

Scans and for periwinkles
the beach comber's edible offal
peeling back the cloud
unfurling silvery dawn.

Submitted: Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Edited: Monday, March 17, 2014
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Topic(s): love

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