(I wonder if the gull) that habitually dances
along the shores of oceans
knows when it has landed on a lake.

In its buoyant feat
hers, it (must feel) that the soft ripples
are only wind-whipped,
no pull of the moon,
no ebb and swell for it to ride
to shore on white-capped chariots.
It must hate the dank, stag
nant waters and miss
the consistent salt-saturated
stirring.

But "Oh (the Rest)!"
It must enjoy the Quiet
as it Rests with other lost (found) gulls,
(in the Silence),
the Conversation,
the Calm,
the gentle Lapping
of the waves against its feat
hers(.)
It must enjoy it so.