Seagulls in the Light

On the beach, a box of light
Where a few seagulls stand
And peck for scraps.
They flap
Their wings if a passerby
Comes to close
Or a stiff breeze blows
Their feathers.

I throw them a piece
Of my sandwich,
Which they scuffle with each other over.

I turn to you.
How many times have we,
Like the seagulls,
Scuffled over scraps of that coveted bread
We feel we can’t live without
Only to realize,
In the calm that follows the storm,
That what we were fighting over was little,
And that we have wings
And can fly
together

Or fall?