The sight of the bodies slowly descending into the darkness, the depths
to the piles of those left to swim for their lives, for the lives of their children
they sunk, prisoners of war become anchors, a glistening sepulcher beneath the waves
not amber, stilled trapped within,
murky and thick with crude oil, more bodies sink and twist and bend as the waves yell at the moon,
“Iamb, iamb, iamb,”
and they reply with silence, or I couldn’t hear between the claps of thunder and my ears were drowned in the cries of a morbid homecoming.
Rusted gadgets and fragile gizmos I mistake for crumbling bone.
I nearly forgot the ocean was a tomb, a mass grave borne of strife and preserved in sodium chloride, an element possessed by Lot’s wife
in the eyes of angry God
-forsaken casualties casually captured by the tide
like the drowning Ursus maritimus, frigid ivory tress to line the floor of the welcoming sea
Lethe was home and I became the wretched of the sea with the rest of the ungrounded rejects
part of a brave new world your world deemed the global dumpster of souls and extracted war blood.
The mermaid fantasy died in my dreams last night.