Shadows

    by Phillip Peters

In the hard vice of salmonella
I see only the projections,
the shadows of gulls on the balcony.
The gulls flying,  the shadows
 swimming on concrete.
The gulls feel the wind,
the shadows black, unaffected,
judge my feelings, untouched,
mock my thoughts .  Cackling words 
swirl in the sky’s surf, asking cruel
questions I can never answer.
I roll over in my pool of sweat
my fever broken still grips
my mind, my muscles quiver.
I climb back into sleep,
feel the wind on my face,
watch the shadows swim,
below as I melt into them,
find the answer to the question.