Love of the sea

The Gulf gulls’ chants at dusk all sound alike
to me, but symphonies of secret tones
must prove expressiveness beyond the spike
of elegiac grief I hear. I’ve known
only another coast, but the lyrics hold.
One gull might say:This short-lived breeze. This day:
most gray
. His brother must intone: I told
this pair of pier-posts crumbling: wait. Matte sky
stays stable perching on these two bad feet.

Here is a Texas singing in a trill
I know. Unbordered world, far from the weight
of my heat-baked adopted land. It’s all
music again, at last beyond the fence
of the inland blue-black grackles’ dissonance.