Poetry: 100 Gulls

The 100 gulls were like a small crowd I once saw, scuttling its way around a library first to one place, then another.  Moving en masse like a living organism, oozing around the stacks like an amoeba.  The gulls were a presence like the spirit of God hovering over the forsaken city.  Like men with lanterns looking for one wise man. I looked up and saw what no one else did, what no one else cared to see.  I received the gift, they went unblessed.