dead birds on the shore

she sees them, and sees herself

battered, blown off course

in the guts of such storms as

bully this coast

she’s buffeted: she feels her wings snap

by day her surrounds eddy grey and by night

churn black: the sea, the sky, neither down

nor up nor around no sense

no salvation – small corpses, oil-slick sodden

dumped, junked by the tide

dark damp broken omens against

panic and exhaustion (so tired)