Sisters

At the water’s edge, the seagulls scatter at my approach.

I imagine that they are fleeing from us both,
that we are running headlong into the throng,
that I hear your laughter above

the trapped silences
between the flap of wings,
receding surf, and footfalls.

The seagulls cry.

I imagine that all the blank
spaces between us
are filled with their cries.