Land Locked

Stretched out under the snow a dead seagull, wings spread. I must have seen a dead seagull before, but if I did it was not a snow burial, not in Kentucky, not in my backyard. By late afternoon a weak sun had thawed the carcass, as I eased a shovel under it, a sharp wind lifted one stiff wing as if to fly. Land locked from any shore. I dearly wished that both of us could see the ocean from here.