Scylla
       

I marvel at the lean
agency of ships—
tall sloops cutting
the cold elegance
of perfect silence
while winds dim
to a dead gleam.
Some have heard
my dogs, shallow in
the hearts of them,
sound a warning
either too suddenly
or too late, snakes
touching all there is.
You would think
the sea was blind
to me as I stare out,
deaf to the dull
pull of waters that
promise, if not love,
then love or nothing.

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Copyright © 2012 Heidy Steidlmayer All rights reserved
from Fowling Piece
Triquarterly Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission