Hatchlings
seagulls holler on the updraft,
looping and diving, circling out
in this cerulean blue-violet haze.
in even motion, an idyllic dance
led by an invisible hand. Curving
and carving. Stripy shells wash in.
flippers floundering, beating the casing,
their instinct routing them like arrows
to water, away from snapping beaks.
this squishy ooze sticking to our heels,
and we feel ourselves disappearing in,
our souls fed by the grounding.
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