I, the siren, do sing and wail and chant
to call you near and down and deep.
So south even the trees have feet
who exploit adversity and tire for soil.
I, half maiden half tail, wade in poise or poison
to keep you close and warm and safe.
So soothing are the pinches from your leaves
that I dare say I sang right to the root.
I, conniving and cruel, craft nerves
to build you in system and sentiment and subtly
so. Wretched with herstory, she makes no room for his
for as long as they both did swim.
I, blissful and wild, did overwhelm and turn
to leave you pruned and pulped and blue.
So crooked you were in a boney musical
that I could not help but drown you.