If, at night, between Manhattan
  and Roosevelt Island
a huge seabird
  is gliding slowly, silent

without even breathing; if this is a
  night with wind and snowfall,
I wonder if this seabird in confusion
  moves at the spur of the moment.

These are two bright cities
  with a shrinking sea in between.
At night, if the bird just
  wants to get used to surviving

in the gaps of light
  or with the help of light and snow
to follow the fish in the dark,
  let it fulfill its wishes then.

If I find, in surprise, in the hollow
underneath the wings—white,
then I have found my solitude
  between Manhattan and Roosevelt.