On red-sky nights
She Steals
from the strong-willed.
Sucking
the beautiful
under, along with her.

On red-sky morns’
She Hopes.
But doesn’t discriminate
between beauty that is
with or without
gills.

At midnight
She Reflects
on the position of the Moon.
And may delight or give warn:
“You want to swim?”
“Are you certain?”