I heard the sirens change from watch to warning
and left to walk the
writhing woods.
How strange to name that shriek a
siren.
The air is bottle-green and
branches swim,
illusion that I’m steady in a
savage sea.
No one else is in these woods now, and I wonder,
from how many masts have I untied myself?
I’m overboard again. The storm’s the siren song
beneath the deep green waters of our times,
the restless forward sideways outward movement we
hear wailing in our heads in moments of tranquility.
First line borrowed from an anecdote told by Ashley
Baines.
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