Aloft Poem by George Murdock

She hauled out onto the crag faced wrackles
Gasping from the strain for a moment
From her seawind lungs
From the topsail stay the sound of her voice
Spilled across the seaward haul
Whispering of lost men drug across her tethers and timbers
Of souls burned by love's needle sharp indentations
There in the parlors of opium crazed artists
Lips purloined and pinned with gold and diamond smiles
And ink blacked meaning
Seawitches and hearts pierced on arms marked forever
But that was not her name and something then it became
That was not her voice the one which called him to her bed
Where he lay breathless and dizzy
His ears ringing from her songs and whispers
And promises of further pleasure.
It was not her voice now as she pleaded for his heart
The heart which had been pierced by her name.
. He listened now to another bird which soared aloft
On perfumed winds and warm fair spirits who would not demand soul for payment
Or want their voices discerned from longing's seabird laughter
That was the voice he heeded not one upon the shore or burned into his skin
From that chorus of groaning flesh and bedboards on seaboards set by rent
And linen came other voices, small insistent voices which could not be stilled
By liquor or promises