bad dreams
those deep liquid eyes held trust
but unflinchingly they clubbed the sealions
strung their pieces from the walls, streaming
and made torches from their oil
so that young girls would stray from the path
and be swallowed by the murky swamp

and the ocean was red
and the sky wept to see
but the moon dragged the seas still
dispassionately watching with her milky
gorgon eye, does she see the past, present, future?
Does it matter? Does she care?

Sailor, do not leave,
these ominous portents must surely call you back
in her arms she can hide you from
the treacherous moon
and slaved seas
but though she could weave a net to catch the wind
she cannot shield you from the storms she calls to the horizon
but all is lost in losing you