They call across the water
Disturbing consistent alarming
One after the other.
For two long hours. Fire trucks.
My island holds a course upstream
Deaf to the sirens luring call across the water.
From my secure perch, I extend one hand
To block the setting sun.
Looking sunward at the flashing lights
Avoiding looking directly at
The true light. My hand is a moon.
Eclipsing the great red disk
Of Apollo’s chariot
And below, the red lights
Speed and flash
Practising for the day their cry willl be
Their flashing lights will declare
The true light of life or death.
The sun sets. Violet and gold clouds remain,
The sirens call.