the gulls her

voice is fixed to tense the drum

the neck, hair clear on end, the gull her

voice to what she’ll call the flock of them, each one

clawed as human talk: grip let the arc of her

is taut: the neck its hum

her skin of the

drum
amp all of tremble

in the caw: gull form

please this turn of her

each bliss gull form

dumb wave disturb

not arm nor wing:

the flock at that new call
is bristling: what space for seabirds!

but each just backs up higher

at her, high enough to be edged out
not space but room: her voice formed that