April Poem: Gulls in the Wind

Who of us knows the weather
like the gull knows it, from high above
or deep within, how he knows, how he knows
and understands, how he soars,
hovers, dives, according to
the weather’s plan.

And how, sometimes, he casts down
his single cry, which rides
on invisible streams
to the ears

of height-fearing crawlers,
here below.