Lost Sea Gulls
Where did I get the notion
that anything with wings
knows always where it’s going?
In Reno sea gulls ride the heat
of hotel floodlights,
just circle
and circle seven hundred at a time
as if it were a lighthouse
in the desert.
Newspapers scream stories
of planes that crash
hundreds of miles off course.
Dragonflies persist
diving into the electric shock
of my patio bug zapper.
But any day now,
I trust angels will find us--
our pain among millions--
wrapping us in white wings.
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