other animals

what sound would surface near the sound 
near the end of winter’s statement 
the iced-over suns unmoved gulls
chase gulls for morsels of mussel 
what sigh from that sharp air what would

we hear if I said no thanks to that junk 
on the horizon if I could tell what 
I hid so well do I wait for the cold
green mornings to split into petals the 

color of what’s buried taking thoughts 
I would have wasted but what would it sound
like opening my mouth the way I 

want do I keep carving notes on sheets 
of ice as herons hide their necks