We lure them, they say,
their thick sweaty necks
crane to hear windsong
hoping we’ll spread our legs.
They steer straight
for the jagged edges, crash,
and mangled bodies
litter our shores.
We have no interest in
the nasty beasts, capisce? We weave,
we plant, we drink the air, care
for crying children. And when we sing
when we sing
we simply sing for the joy of it.