By Orion I navigate a legion
of girls in Halloween angel wings,
waves of taffeta, and tulle.
My answer to what do you want
is lifted like a siege of herons,
floats like fox-fire away.
There must be another ship,
lanterns snuffed, ahead of me,
plundering a peaceful fleet.
What else could that knocking be
if not the roll of wooden mermaids,
severed by bronze, stowed in her hull?