No caption can surround a wave
tussled, in surreptitious brig.
no divide, nor contoured line
makes up the shape of sentence.
Brush stroke on stroke
in the mighty, wilding
wind, cracking fast and welting
there where dying men live,
below that, past the navel of Hades,
past the gavel struck judgment,
where seamen die.
Be born again in salt,
and fire, so fertile,
the body forgets it's rot
and goes on singing the poor man's virtue
all down the river Styx
below the written sea.