SEAGULLS

Every evening
the city seagulls
gather in front of the station
to mull over their loves.
In their scrapbook
two sandalwood flowers:
one marks the page of bridges,
the other the page of thieves.
They like the cracked roofs
and the scraps from the market.
But what their little hearts
—their acrobats' hearts—
care for most
is the unending passage of the days
with their infinite changes.