Siren

Tell me how

You came to be

Washed up

On the shores

Of Costa de Caparica?

In truth the siren’s call

Reached me

Years before

But instead

I kept a substitute

For the real

And the raw

And the waves

That crash on

To their own beat

Everyone advises

You to choose

The shine

And the gloss

The imitation

Then wonder why

The emptiness

Doesn’t lift

I’ve found

You cannot cut off

The wild soul

From itself;

By its nature

It draws

That same wildness

To it

Because

Waves know shores