Morning in Seabrook

At dawn,

The pigeons gathered

On washing lines

Like an audience

At the opera,

While a slow crimson

Wind chased

The last of the night

Into the Gulf;

Waiting somnolently

They watched the shadows

That danced amongst the ferns,

And the morning parade

Of sea gulls that

Loomed overhead

Like Lancaster bombers;

When the sun arrived

Like a monument

They flew south

Toward Galveston,

Chasing circles

And the

Breakfast boulevards,

Crying and screaming

Like a dawn chorus

In the Texas morning.