Vancouver City

The sun reflects like silver
on the city's panes of glass;
Tall and towering buildings
catch the wind that tries to pass.

The seagull flies up high
above the grime and smell;
It is free from traffic
and the city's barring cells.

The reflections in the windows
that catch the city's time,
Are only deepening scratches
carved out within the grime.

The fumes that hang like Nimbus clouds
obscure the clear blue sky;
I wonder- is this the reason
That seagulls fly so high?

1981,04,30