The Melting River Poem by Gordon R Menzies

The gulls are back in the Cold Garden
up and down the river they are calling
gathered by the bridge Louise' father built
they cry for you, to you, they cry for me
my own heart caught in their feathery voices
up and down the melting river they are calling
the blinding ice retreats before them by degrees
they measure silver distance in running water
understanding some things cannot be measured
it's not too far to run with the current, all
the way to the Bay that took the Hudson's
past where you sleep with knitted covering
home-made and practical, sometimes dreaming
of long wings that left the known for unknown
the decidedly safe for the seemingly unsafe
trusting mind instead of eye, sought origins
but these birds are generations from the sea
as far from there, you see, as you to me