Sirens sang, as harbingers will do,
of promises,
seduction
and martyrdom.
Innocence was hanged
by ignorance,
by two, and renamed
as the freakish indemnity of freedom.
By the gray river now almost at the sea,
by the emptiness of this infallible,
collateral decree,
Life crawled, bleeding, to a stand
and bayed at the half-moons
and the color bands.
Still,
beyond yellow the Stated iris is one.
And even the vacuum will bellow
for the sainted
silent son.
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