The Ithacan

 What if I alone were to hear these sirens,

and survive the impulse to plunge

while bound?

And all around me no one else

heard the sound

but could see my ravings, unhearing?

The fabled tune that makes men mad

fascinates as it destroys

but how can I resist the lure

of doing what was not done before?

I yearn despite my fearing.

Tie me to this masthead

as if I myself were a siren carved

in place,

for I who will know death

must surely face

with open ears

the language that allays my fears

and would drive me to that other

home that is not Ithaca.