Shall not be

anything

but a Lusitania

behind these eyes.

Later, surfacing stories

of contraband dynamite

may only contain gossip’s

perhaps-ness

that allies shall find

the sham of after legend

becomes mystery…

 

Legacies, legacies long

as memory’s gaze, that searchlight

for truth’s cargo, my passengers simply

innocents, unsuspecting & too 

conveniently waylaid.

 

Know their voyage & its stance:

a vacation, waves, the tiers

of room service, the diner’s bells,

the decks for sun bathers

strolling to taste spray in views

of stiller light…

 

Misbegotten moon

before a new sun’s serenity?

 

No iceberg struck this, nothing neutral,

only nature in enemies man made:

the torpedo & its point

careening to swipe sides

& sink sink sink…

 

Here, reach slumbering depths now,

the fish for vision,

the fins through silenced

cries, the orphaning currents & the pearls

 

through which my submerged gleams see.