I can hear the seagull in a bowl
As I scrape with a metal spoon the last yogurt
From the rim – scraw, scraw, scraw, scraw –
And hear the ocean the undertow the wash
Of wave and wind holding the bird aloft.
There’s a slight metallic ringing in the sea
As if the boats and buoys and harbor bells
Swamped from a winter storm or rogue wave
Still clang beneath the blue. And the dream
I had before breakfast of white goats, bells
Tinkling lightly under their beards, high up
In a Greek harbor town, milked and pastured
Where the bees make their amber combs
And the serving girl comes with her morning figs
Yogurt and honey to set on the wooden table
Already warm with sun and blue cornflowers,
Her black hair brushing my shoulder as she bends…
Or that other height from the amusement park pier,
Where gulls scavenge and float above the arcade,
Where waves break against the risings and pilings,
And the ring-toss winner sets off the dinging bell
And the girl laughs as the boy hands her a souvenir
And she spoons frozen yogurt into his soft mouth…
I can hear all of it as my metal spoon scrapes
The rim of the bowl where memories circle and rise
To my mind and mouth like a first lost kiss.