Inland

The fullness of the tree pulsated life back into me releasing a wren to pass over my pocket pantry.
The seagulls flew inland for us mainlanders to feel free.
As the sun ripened air let glory be in me.
And they fed on our scraps of pleasantry.
The sound of breaking vehicles like howling winds.
Replacing the tides breath out and in
Tiny bicycles raced the patter of feet.
An audience of flowers remained in their seat.
Until clouds disbursed pupils of seed.