Ember Tails

Sirens of the Lost Tide

Where iron bones sleep in the sand,
and storm clouds lower their velvet veil,
three daughters of the sea return—
not as ghosts,
but as memory made beautiful.

They rise beside the shipwreck,
half dream, half devotion,
their bodies touched by salt,
their silence shaped by wind.
The ocean knows their names,
but speaks them only in waves.

Once, this vessel crossed the dark water
with lanterns, hunger, and hope.
Now it leans into ruin,
a cathedral of rust and shadow,
while the sirens gather at its ribs
like love returning to what was lost.

One rests where the tide still breathes,
one listens to the distant horizon,
one keeps watch from the broken frame—
each a verse in the same old spell:
that beauty does not vanish,
it only changes form.

And there, beneath the bruised Oregon sky,
romance becomes elemental—
not soft, not simple,
but wild as surf against steel,
tender as a hand placed over the heart,
eternal as the sea
that takes everything
and still leaves us longing.