They drift like gray thoughts

beneath the flat glare of the sun

scarred backs breaking the surface

of warm clouded water

In winter they gather

Often in family groups

their bodies slow as old engines

their hearts steady but fragile

Boat motors carve the silence

Plastic tangles in grass they trust as food

The rivers narrow

The seagrass thins to memory

Still they rise for air

whiskered faces lifted

into a world that rarely sees

how gently they are trying to live