Up into the gale she climbs, reaches to her thigh
for her rum flask and cigar. She goes up and up
and up, oh Ally, Ally eye. The gusts are strong
enough to raise her up as if she were her own sail,
shirt a billowing romance of wrinkles, her tattoos
peeking out and holding on for dear life. Oh Ally,
Ally eye. She is and she isn't and always is always,
and howls in rain, the skein of the wind bearing down,
Ally, Ally eye. Fish and fowl and bending pine,
all is rushing out, all is blowing back on Ally, Ally eye.
