Siren Voice

From gently singing in her sleep, she wakes.
She of the siren voice slides out of bed
and makes her way to her small bathroom space.
Low. Slope of ceiling. There
with nowhere for the head,
she bows, as all must bow, unless,
as she does now, 
the skylight is unlatched. Pushed up into the night.

Head in cool night air,
the naked body slightly shivering,
she stands, part in, part out, to brush her teeth.
Arrayed before her: sea and naked rocks,
she tilts her head, looks up towards the stars.
At their most beautiful.
                        She pauses her ablutions,
hits the perfect note - high C of legend -
has shattered tumblers in her time
and wonders
           vaguely
                  can she shatter stars?

The note fragments the song, her voice
and voice box now are instruments,
her art an abstract sound...

And now a stream of perfect notes.
She hears the echoes coming back,
hears what we don't hear: harmonics
gathering like birds on wires.

She hears the cosmos tremble
                            at the sheer audacity
of what she tries -
                   or thinks she does.
Such deep and vibrant sounds -
then bends again
                resuming her ablutions.
Rinses.
Glances back
            up once more and out into the night
looks up towards the stars.
One star seems brighter than
    and larger than before. 
    Grows as she looks.
The light awhile too bright,
                            she hides her eyes.
The sea erupts as water spout.
There's violence.
Then when she looks
                   is calm again.

Has she a voice to lure stars to the rocks?
A song to suck a satellite
out of the ether,
out of the very cosmos that is sky
reflecting back her voice?
(For is that not the very thing 
the satellite is meant to 
Do? Do?  Do?  Do?  Do?  Do?  Do?  Do?