Kin, For Richard Moore

Kin by Michael R. Burch for Richard Moore 1. Shrill gulls, how like my thoughts you, struggling, rise to distant bliss— the weightless blue of skies that are not blue in any atmosphere, but closest here ... 2. You seek an air so clear, so rarified the effort leaves you famished; earthly tides soon call you back— one long, descending glide ... 3. Disgruntledly you grope dirt shores for orts you pull like mucous ropes from shells’ bright forts ... You eye the teeming world with nervous darts— this way and that ... Contentious, shrewd, you scan— the sky, in hope, the earth, distrusting man. Originally published by Able Muse