CALLS OF THE GULL
We follow the fishing trawlers
wait for the sacrament
of rejected fish, the blood
and oil of their broken bodies
to be released from the holding wells
requiem on the cobalt rush
that breaks beneath the bow.
We travel until we can go
no longer, the ship’s mission beyond our reach,
its promises held outside our strength.
In the thin strands of foam
that trace the endings of waves,
we still our bodies and call to each other—
these unheard hymns of resignation.
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