Cars pass slowly by these panes, in the cold wet winter rain.
Old mottled Boston glass.
Straight-lined and rolling slow.
The man walks by to where?
Crows and gulls dance for food.
Wings spread carving in flight hills and valleys,
tickling the crisp cold air.
Can’t remember seeing seagulls around here.
With their swooping motions they seem to be up to something.
You should see their swooping motions.
They know Christmas is coming and how blue the sky
just above the thick winter clouds.
They swoop free,
doing so much more,
than any of those cautious cars in the cold wet winter rain.