• Among the elements she survives and gluts
    as her bow parts the white-horsed seas.
    The heavy air shortens her sight and blindly
    she drinks in the sensations.
    Of brine. Of crash. Of chill. Of pitch.
    A greedy suckling at a watery breast.

    A warning tolled and shouts
    from those locked in her womb
    Newly formed eyes blinded as
    that good, ill-natured beam
    shines flatly on her wet boards.

    Against the razor’s edge
    she flings herself.
    Lace-wing sails
    flutter fathoms.