A prodigious flock of seagulls
float seemingly, effortlessly
on a winter frigid river
like miniature polar floes.
Their harsh wailing and squawking calls
are muffled by the roaring sound
of cascade from an old dam.
Their idiosyncratic moves
manifest aquatic prowess:
Their twirling, swirling, eddying
against the current as though fixed
to each molecule of water
until they rise from the surface
into winters late morning mist.