by Michael H. Brownstein
The slipshod ice of clarity,
Daylight dripping snow into pellets
Opaque and clear, off white with an essence
Of ash tree, clouds, a spirit within wind.
On the dunes, scrub brush, sand thorn,
And stacked on the piles of crusted ice,
Herring gulls each with a piece of fish
Waiting patiently for the long spray of spring.
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