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)