I once thought love
meant a trite Romantic metaphor --
"A bird that soared above some far-off shore" --
calling gently among the metronomic whispers of the waves,
casting a fleeting shadow on sun-kissed sand
where sea spray mingles with the scent of seaweed.

But after four weeks' absence
and the silence of those thirty days,
I saw, while in traffic,
a flock of seagulls
drifting lazily as flies
over the Oakland sewage plant.