The seagull's song

This is the breeze,
the one that will always blow this time of morning
as if it were the force to move the waves
like mountains in its path.
It calls to my family and they answer;
come and listen, it says,
hear the sea man's song.
I peer down my beak,
past the salt and sand
the wind has wedged there.

A man sits alone
swaying on the sand
with some great box
eyes closed
as if it were he
who makes the breeze blow.

The sounds that reach me are familiar
besides foreign origin;
with every string to pass his hand,
the rope of gravity release

Suddenly weightless
subject of the sound
several together, then apart
melody is the combination
sand, salt, and sky
thrown together
reaching, contracting
satyrs, nymphs
dance across the waves
alighting once and taking off
never somewhere, always everywhere
vibrations break across the hands of man.
This is the breeze,

the one that will always blow.