Flowers woven in arches
Great gaping realms of color and canyon
Willows that dip dangerously into
What we knew to be reality
Fantastic failures:

The light is a butterfly
Reflecting images of their once memories
They don’t know
How relates the fury of a storm
They can’t know
How hard the wind will blow
When callused fingers caress the piano keys
Because they could only saunter by and
Fantasize
Of his next fabric of chords and melodies

Allegro!
Rubato!
Fortisimmo!
One dramatic dynamic
Red letter action that inspires
Fabulous, indescribable, luscious
Nightmares with dark classics
Jive with swing numbers long lost in their reveries
-such graceful sounds
Can we call them Earthly sounds
Oh what hurricanes they bring

Candid architecture solidifies
The society’s history major-
-recurring dreams
How they failed, plethora of hopes
Dashed

But the music
Kills the beast

If you could watch a plane crash in slow motion
You’d see a hundred lives slip away
Into the jet stream.
From row 17, seat B, you’d see
A freckled child lose their Legos,
Parents,
Youth.
And the man in row 22 would take one long, last
Look at his wife
And think only of love, love, love.
The overhead compartments will open
And spill out the wares,
The jackets that kept them warm
And the computers that once lit
With their life’s work
And thus, the world seems to shatter.
Do they cry? Do they have time?
Do they pray? Do they lose faith in God?
Do some gain it?
No one but the dead know the true tragedy.

As the tray tables dislodge
And the sky falls

Sunday morning and I’m tucking
piano sonatas in my skirt.
He’s setting the gun and I’m
making peace blankets.
He is war.
I am I am I am air.

Tuesday night and he’s floating
candles on lily pads off the canoe.
I’m wetting my feet.
He’s rowing soundlessly
dreaming of geography
and I’m hitching my skirt
to jump into the water.

His pinstripe jacket looks better
on the floor
Wednesday afternoon
he’s apologizing but I’m too late
pressing my lips to the door
I throw open
the IamIamIam air prayer
he’s apologizing but
setting the gun
clicking in ammunition
aiming aiming at my heart…

When he pulled the trigger
I bet I bled music notes.

It’s not giving up when you let go.
You tried, right?
You held him fast in your arms until
You were only clutching air.
You still wish for him there.
You may ache for him in the night
Though your loneliness was fiercer
With his breath in your lungs.

Yet like the morning fog
He has disappeared,
Leaving the warmth of day
In his wake

The days keep passing, don't they?
Even when I watch with my unblinking eyes
the stoic clocks that only emanate innocence.

Time passes slowly, here.
The languid ways with which the water careens
and sways
-and how even the air stands still
wisping softly between our fingers
and our hair.
The space between then and now grows
smaller, yes
despite the sorrow that comes with
dwelling and indifference.

And each day, I and the sun
will do that which is impossible-
endure
patient
ly

I like you in the morning,
your eyelids still heavy with the innocence
Of sleep
The sunrise still soft on our skin s

I like you at noon, in the heat of day
Pronouncing German, invoking laughter.
What I would give to stand with you,
The sun warm on our faces, our hearts
In some lost and faraway place
If only to quench our Siamese wanderlust

I like you in the evening,
Your strong arms around me
Watching HGTV;
Or when you play me sweet melodies,
(that violoncello will steal my heart)

And yet,

I like you best at night
when you dream aloud-
Hands searching-
Breath quickening-
Skin touching-
Words failing-
One becoming-

You are most wonderful at your most vulnerable,
Most pure

Let’s discover the world together-
Tomorrow?

In the heart of the rain in the middle of the night;
In the cocoon of my blankets,
In the warmth of solitude-
My world tingles with a drunken glow.

The tilt of the edges of my consciousness draws out my thoughts
Like blood,
And suddenly I ache for the Seine-
Her quiet waves and raucous shores
So full of life and dripping dreams…

In the silence of my dizzy memories I am struck
With wanderlust,
So fierce I awaken with one shoe tied and key in hand
Pleading for anything but here.

It is too easy to leave, now.
Beyond what was once audacious and beyond
The clear, raging sea-
The unknown calls to me.

In the core of my body in the center of my soul
I now know home
And it is far, far from any place I have ever seen
It is heartbreakingly beautiful and
fleeting

Knobby knees and coffee shops
Have been married since before time
Was.
Hipsters with their progressive politics
And symbolic lyrics and
Witty banter
Deem themselves worthy of macchiatos
On Tuesday mornings.
And the tiny tables creak with
Liberal arts degrees and sugar and
Cream.
Tibetan prayer flags slip out of pockets
Onto a floor scuffed by Converse
And bare, raw feet.

And if you, too need salvation in the form
Of caffeine and dreams,
Come on in-
Even if your hair is straight and perhaps
You don’t have a clue
About ethnocentric ideas of beauty-
Open the door, order your addiction,
Sink in.
Your knobby knees will fit just right.

I bought curtains so we could close them.
Yes, blinds work just fine.
But perhaps I’m a romantic and believe
We can really close out all but us
With fabric and words and closed eyes

I’ll never tell you about these dreams I have
Where there is only a long stretch of road
And I don’t even know if we are driving,
Or walking, or simply sitting
Watching the road,
Holding hands,
Listening to the music of the air

You’ll never know that when I can’t sleep
I wake up and watch your eyelashes
So very gently fluttering with a dream
And I almost almost touch your hair
To feel you there
Or to feel you touch me back
Oh, how my heart would soar-

With you, the rain’s soft thunder
And the night’s warm laughter

Are music, music,

The lightning in my bones

It’s the kind of night for a midnight shower
Because being naked makes me feel more human
Than babysitting a textbook at my bedside.
Because the slow and methodical nature in which
I shave
Makes me feel dangerous and foxy and downright
Beautiful.
Because the chill of the air after the temperate water
Turns me on more than any history book,
Filled with yesterday’s news,
Ever could

There are yellow daisies,
Two pairs of glasses,
And a watch abandoned in the dark.

There are socks strewn across the floor,
Jeans, a belt, a bra.

I am curled like a comma
Next to your heated skin,
Listening to you breathing in,
And out--
Rhythmic like the tides.

The stars have faded.
The morning light may soon trickle in,
but for a silent, suspended moment--
It's just you and me

On the cusp of dawn

In the hope that my knees will touch rainbows
I arch my back to the heavens.
If I close my eyes tight I can almost feel the flit
Of a hummingbird’s wings on my cheekbone,
                my brow.
And yet there is, too, beauty in the imperfections-
Holes in socks,
                        cold coffee,
                                           weatherworn hands.

For all that we see hides the unseen,
The blind curling of bodies towards one another and
Snow falling in the deep chill of the night.
Because the fact that we still bleed and babies cry
Means that we are alive
Too bold to lie down and die.

Shall I kiss the wind with the same sweet sorrow
That plagues my soul,
Or shall I close my eyes tight

And feel the prism of light
-not unlike a rainbow

The rain fell in semicolons that morning.
A small pattering and then a downpour,
Its vacillation was music to our eardrums.
All across my face were commas, marking tear trails
Which had long ago dried in the silence of sleep.
And in your eyes I saw the dreaded question marks
That I knew would come at dawn;
Should we have been more afraid?
What made us feel so empty?
Why did love
Sometimes hurt?

The ellipses poured out of my fingertips
As I brushed away your bangs.
My kisses were soft and punctuated periods
Across your forehead and nose and cheeks
Hoping to end the conversation, end the fear
In my heart.
I hoped that we could go together into the tomorrows
That were anxiously awaiting us

Two halves of parentheses,
Making one whole.

Please come save my body from my soul.
Even my fingernails ache with the weight
Of those thousand wine-induced truths.
Every eyelash carries a lost dream,
Neverlands and rain on windshields
In which I go nowhere in the night in a car
I can’t drive.

And my calloused heels!
Imperfections rendered by faulty directions,
U-Turns,
And Leaps of Faith

I’m surprised when my chest still rises and falls
And that breath still whistles through my nose
When all these bricks lay there,
Heavy and unmoved.

My body will someday reject me,
I fear.
Too many sleepless nights and coffee cups
Will shatter me

So please save me

The silence of the air is broken
by the stuttering symphony
of the clash of auto and road.
The once clear sky is whisked
with serene stratus formations.

In the valley of southern mountains
Our hearts clasp at the dream of destination.
A flannel-shirted fellow
sighs in his lullabies,
and hiking boot clad feet
patter at the wisp of his slumber.
Her sunny smile glitters
in spite of the looming,
grey peaks.

Simple joys of friends
and serenity
Paint our spring adventure

I long for a different piece of you every day.
Today, it is your laughter.
Tomorrow, it will be your hips and your gentle jumps
When I caress them.
The day after that I will miss your eyebrows
Along with your eyes, nose, ears, chin
And everything in
Between.

Every day I will ache for your music
Because it, too, is in my body
And I can’t help but miss the melodies
That you once tapped across my spine,
That sweet cry that called out:
She is mine

Some sparrow stirring in me yearns
For the nest of your embrace
That once rocked me to sleep.
For once I had awoken I only wanted to be found
In the deep solitude of you

I still leave half the mattress and covers unoccupied
Perhaps wistfully wishing you’d fill all my empty
Spaces
The ones between my knees and in
My dreams

The day I run out of things about you to miss
You’ll be back in my arms again, whispering
*She is mine

Sound.
If only there were sound.
You have grown weary of words
And all I want is an explosion.
Sound,
Make a sound-
I’ll listen to the notes and crescendo and rubato
Of your voice
If only you would speak

If I must scream until your ears go numb
And unfold my anger in a river thicker
Than molten lava, I will singe your skin
Until you listen-

Sound.
Just a word,
Just a chord
Just a plea, if it must be
And perhaps we can stitch the threadbare seam
That now divides us.
I no longer understand the twist of your shoulders
Or the angle of your eyelashes
Like I once did.
You can whisper.
You can wait.
Please,
Don’t be afraid.
Or else the silence will one day
Break me

I love the sound of living-
ice cubes clinking in an empty glass
the gentle creak of an opening door
baby sleeping, whisper breathing.
Drapes swishing open
to let morning ooze in,
and whispered “I love you’s”
into long distance telephones.

I hate the sound of people
giving up, giving in
that ugly squash of a leather
bootprint
as a dictator takes the stand.
Or that horrible thing called
crying
that simmers and steeps itself
like tea
dripping, white pear acid
on war-torn soil and blood.

I love the sound of forgiveness
Knowing some things will be alright
a kettle whistling on the stove
at midnight
to nullify nightmares still moist
And blanketed words traveling
wrinkled water;
a helpless hand reaching

Savior.

Sweet, whistling
savior.

That summer dawned with fire in its heart.
Its eyes cried with moonlight and the dreams of the night,
So soft in their whispers and their catastrophes.
The sky burned bright with vivacity redder than the earth
And the drums of war rang out.

The red sprung forth in rivers on her cheeks
As she watched the men go silently into the sun;
Their eyes gleamed with glory and the soles of their shoes
With some sort of victory
They might soon be able to grasp between their fingertips.

And too, their bodies would be christened
With the sinuous springs of scarlet
There would be no hands with palms of tenderness
To wipe the salty tears from their bloodstained eyes
So that they may see the glorious fields of wheat,
And flowers (heads pointed to the sun)-
So that they may have a last glimpse of beauty
On a summer morn

I like how sunflowers turn
Their faces
To the heavens
With no fear, my darling,
No fear.
And when your silent fingers
Brush my cheek like I am a
Canvas
I , too, drink the sun
My eyes cannot stop drawing
Curly-q’s
Across your body across across
Your soul
If arms could ever feel like an
Old house then yours,
Well I could feel the weathered walls
Of your tenderness

If only you could leave that feeling
behind
Before you go,

before you go

Often, I am a bluebird.
In the holes of trees I build my home
of twine small as bones.

Indeed, the air tumbles like memory
soft and worn, twisted like string;
and in my wings I capture the silence
In-between
all the trage     dy

When I die my body will soon forget me
Just a passerby, blue feathers streaked
on a sidewalk.
The soul will slip out of my chest, yes,
and yet I'll still fly
anyway

I*

Momma tucked us in tonight
and wrapped the blanket close
to our faces.
"Stay warm, my children,
My babies, my onlies."
She sang us a lullaby.
There in her pretty honey voice
She told us of goblins with
faces scrunched up like lemons
And leprechauns scratching their
bitty green hats
as they looked for their pots of gold.
Momma sang about dragons
who breathed fire as red as her hair.
The dragons musta been real, ‘cause
I thought I heard some people running
Up above us.
I made sure to tell Momma
that they were up past their bed time.
Then she kissed us,
my little brother and I,
on our foreheads-
Peck, peck.
And we said our prayer
as Momma closed her eyes and laid on our
feet.

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray thee lord, my soul to keep.
And if I die before I wake
I pray thee lord, my soul to take.
Amen.

II**

They flooded our boat
Like Dante’s lustful souls
Screaming, crying, bellowing--
They descend upon salvation.
And their faces-
So pale!
So frosty-reddened with tears
I have never seen faces so ridden with
Defeat.
Utter, valiant
Defeat.
The dearest Carpathia decks held
A strange, huddled mass that night.
In all my years
(And I am indeed with many,
Many years)
I have never seen such a silent desperation
That has made me close my eyes in such
Fear.
I reach, my hand becoming my heart
In fear for these depleted souls
And take them--
One by one.

III

Out of the corner of my eye
I watch our rosin-graced bows
Rotate to our rhythm
Our bowties are fresh and
Pressed
Our vests clean and buttoned
I smile at Fred, who
Turns to grin at Hartley
What fine folk
Our wooden bridges will greet
Tonight


We are a dream
Hartley directing us like a grand symphony
We are voices to keep thoughts off of
The maiming waves
The melancholy miasma of
Starlight
Glints on our strings
People screaming, bellowing,
Fighting
But we play on, men
We play on.

IV**

Ma boys, ma boys
I hold them close in this canvas
Lifeboat
They look me in the eyes and say,
“Papa, where is Mama?”
How is it answered?
How do I answer sweet boys
Who question me in this canvas
Lifeboat?
How can it be said:
‘Boys, Papa take you away from
Mama
To Liberty Land
Where streets are gold?’
So I
I say nothing to quiet boys
In lifeboat rocking on the sea
Dark water is like truffle blood
I cannot see.
Away go we
On dark sea.
Small boys stop asking
Where Mama go
When they know
How I take them away.
I hold them tight
And look for dawn.

IX**

I rust.
I, who they called ‘unsinkable’—
--once
Sleep in ghostly slumber.
In my cradle I sense
Bodies breaking down.
They cry with me about
Loss and sacrifice,
sometimes when I forget to feel.

The Grand Staircase is screaming
Every last table and chair are
Kneeling
Baby dolls are weeping-
Do they lust for eternity?

At times I yearn for my lost children
Those that lie yards
From my mast
And those generations descended
Alike
They should walk my bow
Caress my stairwell
Dance in my parlor rooms—
Shake me awake
For you are
One thousand, five hundred
And seventeen
Perished
And I am
One
Not yet dead.

V**

I hold my lantern high
Its glow illuminating only feet of water
The others were so confused, for I
I didn’t want to let them die
Forgotten.
The water is like black silk
I dare to brush my hand across the surface
And feeling the ice of the ocean
I fear.
With a sweep my eyes scan the horizon
Up ahead, ship **!
There lay remains of the beauty
We once thought could wall us in
And protect us from the nightmarish world.
Bodies of the dreamers
Lay floating in their pressed white
Life jackets
And I call for anyone
Anyone at all
Who will make my voice worthwhile…
--We waited too long
We waited too **** long
A tear slips down my cheek
And sweat racks my spine
As I wait for
A sound.

VI**

No.
These books lie.
These words and these voices and
These photographs
Hoodwink us into thinking
Titanic is really gone.
No.
It was the Olympic, dear
Baby girl Titanic is still out there
Twanging lovely cello notes
And drifting with smooth propellers.
No.
Adrift like a ghost
Is she…
**** those photographs
They feel so untrue, because in my heart
I was there
I am there.
So I am drowned?
I am facedown in the water
Gasping for a breath my
Body cannot take?
I am dead?
NO.
My boy is still alive
I am still holding his hand deep
In the sea
Blue blue ocean
If lovely girl, Titanic, has broken
I am broken too.

VII**

The water starts easily, helplessly
licking my tires with passionate peace
As the current builds I can feel my hubcaps rusting
peeling away all those years of clacking British
pavement
and dogs taking a leak despite scolding
strangers
and children’s bouncy *****
gliding just short of an auto wreck

the icy ocean digs underneath my doors
it cuts my cushioned seats
like cobra teeth
Tearing away the midnight kisses
rides to dark places
and the beautiful dusk rainfalls
--If I think a while, in this bubbling
reverie
I can feel the sizzling raindrops
pattering

When the water reaches my wheel I
moan my engine
collapsing inside, wishing I could cry
but any oil would float away
and infest the souls I know will soon
surround me.
It isn’t long before I must hold my breath
and my wheels gently feel a folding of the floor
wood splitting shatters the still air that has
entranced me into my imminent
sleep

nothing, nothing
I all rust
looping bubbles and
twirling like a gumball down the
candy store machine
fallingfallingfallingapart
I explode on an ocean floor
with no hope of returning
even the memories they gave me won’t set me
free

so I only
watch the dust
settle


settle

VIII**

When I was small
I dreamed of free-falling—
I would imagine my thick chocolate
Hair
Swirling around me like a parachute
And I, World Class Acrobat
Would land-standing up!-
To be greeted by
Earth-shaking applause.

Yet there were no cheers when I jumped
Headfirst
Off the unsinkable lady’s bow.
Nobody applauded my grand feat
When I came twirling up for air.
If only I had trained
On the trapeze
I might swing away
From these fatal ropes that now
Suffocate me.
If only I had learned
To escape from life-binding chains…
A miraculous act, they’d say!
See how she cheats death…

Of course, I think all this
As I sink into the
Dreamless sea.

X**

A clear night wraps us in a
trance
and my eyelids flicker slowly with sleep.
To pass the time we count stars
as if they weren’t an endless void.

One, two, three…

Our chests heave in unison
with fatally sharp air
And I think of how pleased
Helen will be
When I am in her arms once more

Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…

Joseph boasts of when we reach America’s
shores
He’ll kiss every girl in the street-
Maybe he will settle down someday.
I give him ten years.

Seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three…

I am the first to notice
a dark, looming shape—
Dead ahead, Joe! DEAD AHEAD!
He squints into the thrashing waters
And we both cry out in strength
just zapped into our spines alike.

We send the signal, but a
squeezing knot
inside of me
Knows that we are too late.
What if instead of stars
we were counting souls instead?


One, two, three, four…

XI**

Please excuse my
lack of vivacity
recently
and the fact that I’ve missed every
ocean-side view
so far.
I know I sleep only
sparingly
and at night my eyes are always
watching
keeping my girl safe.
I know I’ve missed many
top-deck galas
and the Sunday morning service
but I pray bedside instead.
How could I not heed
a premonition like this
(that we will, soon coming,
be strung on a deathly line)?
How could I so endanger my
child?
Her father-
oh, what a brainless man-
insists that she see all the
grandeur.

Darling, did you regret
strolling by daylight
when your daughter and I
watched you die?

XII**

Pretty white-feathered wine
swirls in my glass like the sea
and I can feel her watching me
watching her
as the time trickles through an hourglass.

From here I see
her flashing-train-car-window
freckles
smiling back at me
gentle origami-winged laughter
settles on my eyelashes
as her rose-red drink
stains what was once plain.

-Lord, that smile
like a stitched-up killer
of my mind
yet still philharmonically sound
I draw her near,
“Dive with me.
Stay with me.”

XIII

I was dead when they rescued me.
They pressed cold palm upon palm
to my breast
checking for that graphical mess of a beating
that signified their work well done.
But I would not be that easy.

I saw the light.
It was beautiful, and shaped like
my father
Who braided my hair better than every woman
on the block
And took me to see the countryside even in
the pouring rain.

The light was my sister
gently taking my hand
and brushing my hair
and her hair
and our doll’s hair
(that we were too old for anyway)--
God, I miss her.

In the light
I saw myself
in a blue dress.
My hair was the water
that churned below titanic bows.

A gasping breath.

Then I could feel my heart
Beat

XIV

In the silent night we thought we could hear
Water lapping against distant shores;
Constant reminders of the cruel
Twist of fate.
I shivered alone, skin prickling
As door pieces floated by alongside
Empty life vests
Bodies with darkened eyes
All listlessly floating to somewhere
Out there

Anyone still left had ten minutes to go.

Just enough time for a prayer.

XIX

Missed!
How the hell do you miss a ship?
There she was, slipping out of the harbor
Plain as a summer’s day
And there I was
On the harbor
Gashing in fury at my packed suitcase.

What will my family say?
Am I a failure?
Why can’t I do a single ******* thing
right?

I’ll dream of her tonight.
And night, and night.
Of my journey that wasn’t,
isn’t,
never will be.

I’m out of money and hope and fascination
and dreams
I’m going home,
now.
Godspeed to all I could never be.

XV

God almighty,
Have you ever seen such
a gorgeous vessel?
Linin’ up before it makes
all us lads from Southampton
gleam like steel ourselves
--right, and westward we go

Maybe this’ll be my ticket,
men
to a life worth living above ground
wherever this miracle ship sails me
I’ll go
just the sea and I.

If I marry someday,
it’ll be a **** near sign from God.
I’ve got me a lassie back in
Donegal,
Pretty as they come;
Her hymns are as soft as angel
Wings
In a world too cruel.

Yes, I’ll tell her
soon as I reach shore

but for now, It’s westward
I go…

XVI

Good heavens, what a racket!
Midnight, and they expect us to
Put the kettle on?
Ready empty rooms?
Get the ladders?
What is going on?

We steam through the clear air
towards an unseen disaster
picking our way through ice
and churning waters;
all up too early
yes, too fast

and it’s getting colder still
we’re beginning to worry now
What’s wrong with Titanic?

No, maybe I don’t want to
know.

Yes, I’d rather go back to bed.

XVII

Sometimes I still see the light
filtering through the dining hall windows
and remember long hours of laughter
shared over brandy.
I remember my son, dapper in
a suit and tie
and how he wooed the women with
stories of glory
and battles on foreign shores
which I can still animate
in the colored glass of the windows.

I still see the china
punctual and pristine
stacked like the trunks of
trees
ring upon ring upon ring.
I know in my heart that they are yet
unbroken
-they, and the windows too
my soul knows they will be
as they were
for always and always more
until the Lady is forgotten.

XVIII

I was wearing a green dress.
I was wearing a green dress and I was running
across the lilting boat deck
For what reason, I still do not know.
I heard shouts and cries and prayers inside my head
that echoed back for miles and miles;
Dear God, let this be a dream
Dear God, let us live
Dear God
where are you now?

The sky was dark and the air was cold
And for a fleeting moment I wished for a fur stole
and diamonds
before I realized that I might sink
from the solid weight of those priceless commodities.

I was wearing a green dress and I was running
Twirling in circles as if in a daze
Searching for someone- anyone
But no one was there. They were all gone.

I was all but gone.

Though I let a lifeboat cradle me safely away
I couldn’t bear the shouts and cries and prayers
that echoed

echoed

**

Age.
I know not how others measure it
but my books suggest that I am,
well, how do you say it-
old.
I’ll steer one more maiden into
her dock
and go home, myself
to warm socks and steady ground.

62.
26.
I’ve spent the backwards reading of
my age
on ships
with stars on flags and vessels too fast
for mankind.
Just a few more days, I say
then no more miles
only garden
no more waves
only blankets
and I will age

Yes,
age.

XXI

Ah, the fresh morning air of
Sailing Day.
Every working woman and man
in Belfast
seems to have come running today
eyes open and children in hand.
I paid a pretty penny to
set my lassie on a platform-
way up high with the wind chilling our cheeks
and brushing us silly with sunlight.
Early, early hour.

As clear as day I see three flags-
our Union Jack,
the stripes of Ms. Lady Liberty,
and the bold white star,
swimming in red.

Oh, my little lassie and I
will remember that day forever
When we waved goodbye to
face after face after face
Goodbye, dearest Titanic!

Our hearts sail with you
this glorious, glorious
morn…

XXII

I pulled crimson petal
and petal
from my dying rose
to float there in the water;
though they didn’t stay
long
as the ship ****** on
ever faster

Goodbye was all the easier
the more mile we undertook
-and yet, each tear grew
looser
with every daydream I
dared dream
of my red and lovely rose.

FAITH, FAITH-
I screamed into the April air
America bring me hope for
I bring you
my huddled, my
poor
my
tired

Speed on, ever
faster

XXIII

The clear light of dawn may never be seen.
Just another moonless, silent night, and yet-
The voices of the ocean waves gently recede…

The engines cease, and escaping steam
Clouds the still air. The ship is but a silhouette.
The clear light of dawn may never be seen.

A soft noise, maybe like marbles rolling. Sixteen,
Or so. Just a few. It will be easy to forget.
The voices of the ocean waves gently recede…

Through an open porthole crashes ice, falling between
The cracks of the sea, all too soon met-
The clear light of dawn may never be seen.

It was like breaking glass. Glass, that careens
Into the places in our souls where we sing laments.
The voices of the ocean waves gently recede…

Sleep, children, sleep, for this will all be a dream-
Far from now, where cool breezes will thee abet…
The clear light of dawn may never be seen;
The voices of the ocean waves gently recede…

XXIV

Our father, who art in Heaven
hallowed be thy name

Bodies and blood rush past me.
If I open my eyes and let go
of these hands
I’ll lose faith

thy kingdom come
thy will be done,
in earth as it is in Heaven.

This Kingdom breaks under my
people
my hands bleed down and
I cannot link
enough souls
enough lives
to save us all
and I only cry this
prayer to You-

Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive them that trespass
against us.

In every face I see the forgiving
the forgetting and remembering
of the years they let slip
through their fingers.
They cross themselves for
the Son, the Father, the Holy Ghost
and those they love
and who loves them

And lead us not into temptation;
but deliver us from evil.
for thine is the kingdom,
the power, and the glory
for ever and ever.

Amen.

XXIX

She has haunted my sleep for long enough, I fear-
My nightmares of ghost ships break the still night air
Too swiftly, too fiercely- the wound still stings.
In the night my heels and toes wander listlessly to the graves
Of those others have perhaps forgotten. I have not forgotten.
Fairview cemetery, Halifax, Nova Scotia.

The blank faced child, whom no one claims,
I fear has entered the end of life without the warmth
Of a mother’s embrace. I would hold them. I would love them.
The graves climb the hill like cinderblocks, one pushing the other
Up towards some heaven
Some beautiful blue sky where their souls must lay
And though the trees are bare and the sky feels cold
The silence calms me; here, they feel no water. No collapsing
Floor.

One hundred and twenty one ladies and men and children
Will rest here forever.
Among the graves I lay down my funeral bouquet,
Along with my ghost ship nightmares-
The world’s pain, and mistakes, and visions of a darker day
May perhaps one day rest here too
And float up towards some heaven,
Some paradise.

XXV

Please,
don’t leave me.
You are the first friendly face
and the first to look me in the eye
for what seems like a lifetime.
Your warm blanket is my savior.

Don’t ask what happened.
Should I know, more so than
the others?
I saw what I saw.
My friends haven’t been found,
my family is dead.
Everything I ever knew is now
lost-
Don’t ask me how I feel.

No, this blood
isn’t mine.
My body is fine.

Yes, coffee sounds good.
And some *****,
if you’ve got it.

Anything to wash away
what I’ve seen
because it feels too real,
you know?

XXVI

Some say I’ll see the edge of nowhere
When I get there;
Trees will grow their roots up,
Streams will run backwards,
The grass will be bright blue-
and my unborn son, born
to the grave.

My wife has nightmares
about crying children and
screaming and waves
and I hush, hush, there
my dear wife of Halifax
and tell her the end is nowhere
in sight

In the dead of night I stand on
the boat deck
and wonder what’s really out
there
in the grand, decent world
Because Lord, if there’s no
plan for me
no place, no job, no
family
then I’ll just go

Just please, Lord-
let my baby live
and make it home

XXVII

A three of clubs.
A clarinet missing seven keys.
A left shoe, untied.

A cross on a fine gold chain.
Hot and cold bath knobs.
Three rubies, twelve emerald earrings
And seven diamond necklaces.
A baby doll.

A broken pocket watch.
Gold coins.
The teardrops of every man to lose
a lover
The hurt of every child to have lost
a mother
For every girl to have lost a boy
For every hand to have lost a hand
to hold
A friend to lose a friend

One thousand, five hundred
and seventeen souls.