The tide laps up the shore,
moving in until it’s had its fill
such a quietness to this routine
until a seagull dive bombs
before me. Pulls fish from water,
tosses it up like a pizza dough
and unhinges itself to swallow
it whole–and it stands at the shore
content.
The tide almost pauses
forgetful of its own hunger,
but I–do not.

I drink green everything
every morning, chug my C,
and E, and Zinc, and selenium.
Some blue pills. Some brown pills.
An Apple. Some ancient version
of toast. Nothing feeds me. Nothing
sustains me.
I’m more oyster dropped
from clouds to crack its shell
than the seagull sustaining itself.