by Margaret Gleave

Read me, I'm moulded from ocean's bed.
I dream your dreams in siren song's lament,
as whisper of shell-sounds echoes round my head

of tales of monsters, havoc-bent.
I hint of shipwrecks, whirlpools, crashing rocks,
I dream your dreams in siren songs, lament

the whim of waves, untie the knots
in seaweed skeins that edge the strand.
I hint of shipwrecks, whirlpools, crashing rocks.

I sing to sky and sea of far-off lands
while molluscs cloud my glass and strangle me
in seaweed skeins that edge the strand.

I once held fire where now I hold the sea;
compelled to drift for years round craggy reefs
while molluscs cloud my glass and strangle me.

So eat me, drink me. drown your grief.
Read me; I'm moulded from ocean's bed,
compelled to drift for years round craggy reefs
with whisper of shell-sound; echoes round my head.

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