A Siren's Elegy

Like snow stuck to a tongue,
words clutter my mouth,
stuttering, choking on ice.
My vision fixed on a steep drop to
a pebble stone beach
and a dismal view of the sea.
Decades I’ve been frozen in place
on a pedestal with a plaque
in front that reads:
“Canis lupus, last of its kind”

Each night I cry out
to the salty wind.
My silent howl
haunts no one but seafarers
far, far from home.
The wispy song pierces their ears,
brings a tear to their wind-struck eyes.

I paw for the edge of my overhang,
but my insubstantial motions
leave me riveted
to my marble base.
The taste of sweet
Gravity
is on my tongue.

Some days I
pine to be swiveled, to
face the timberland
I came from, and return
to familiar hunting grounds.
But as the weather wears
away my inscription,
I face ever sea-ward
hoping for a familiar vessel
or a tempest
carrying some large object
to free me from my shackles.