It’s nighttime: she’s treading water, flailingunder the largest delta of distant singing starsShe wants no light to guide her home—a woman can want to swim alone.The cherubim come calling her name thenCondescending. Carrying blinding stars. Four faces, teeth gnashing—four wings with smoldering feathersflap violently: awakening tempests,and they cry, “It’s the tides, then!”that threaten to bury ...