And Sirens sang. . .

Springshine on a rainsome day   time to break
bread and habits between clouds and flowers
Delicate ephemeral sky-blue of
descending evening     tears all dry now
Words behave yourselves ! 
                            Stand to attention !
If it can be done     if it can be thought
She loved distance and sand and wind to dry
her golden hair and she swooned in soft dreams
spoke nouns and adjectives shaped in the pain
of her ancestors     Her white cotton dress
her broad-brimmed hat completed her disguise
as she strode in and out of love    in Nice
where Oedipus tossed stones into the sea
and Sirens sang
                for their sordid supper

John Lyons

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