Sally Witt
An ambulance siren
circles the narrow roadway,
clangs through mountains,
winds its way within me.
Could this be the sound
of earth resisting its own dying?
the cry of those in search of shelter?
the moan of all who hunger?
Do the mountains
take into themselves
the siren call
so they may amplify the cry:
Come, stretch your hand to one in pain.
Do not deny the hurt
surrounding you, within you.
Bless, relieve, repent, repair,
console. The siren calls
from every rock and crevice:
Hear me, let me enter you;
free your heart from its deaf, isolated hardness.
