January 31, 2013


The gulls wake on Saturday morning long before I do.
Someone is reading my poems in my bed, while 
the Moon is wending her way from across the Earth.
I turn over to watch the ocean & sky from my pillow
listen to the gulls recite my poems, watch the litany
of grebes, cormorants, 17 kinds of ducks, an errant loon
repeated like names on the Monument to those under the sea.
The Full Moon arrives for Happy Hour rippling the rocks 
& surf, a present this birthday I came all this way here for.

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