In arms of iron I’m warranted
In lines of chalk I’m still
In bursts of rage I’m justified
It matters when we’re shrill
In the Hebrides I’m mortified
In scaffolding I’m raised
In death defying acts, always
I’m crying until I’m praised
In the front seat of a Dacia
In the back seat of a dream
In the cockpit of a Dreamliner
I’m a waxen, feline scream.
In water that in pushing
Into the sand that keeps us dry
In the time it takes to blow your nose
I’m gone beneath the stormy sky.