My Day 25 poem, based on the prompt at https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-five-8/.

She is not a vision
but a feeling, an impression
almost an impulse—
vague, fleeting, barely defined

I’d like to think I could conjure her up
with the sound of magenta
made by current that hums

But the siren’s song
belongs to the siren
and she is very particular

Even if she were less discerning
what happens on the other side
disappears when I turn over—

I have no choice but to let it go

(25 April 2022)

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