I WOULD REMEMBER
I have walked from river's end to end,
a slow companion to the light seagulls
that circle overhead
and I have stood still above the bend
that separates the foot from distant hulls,
to fill my eyes with flying sails' wings spread.
I have watched them many times repair
the far shore's curve around the sun
and hold it there ensnared
until provoked they drop midair,
instinct with seaward gravitation
and angry claws declared—
their mutiny a gold crazed rout
that tears the cargo from its hold
and scatters it about.
I am not old
and yet, when night brings me to town,
I forget their wings and drown.