E. C. DePrang
it for this, the stony vessel rocked
And sank, embraced by arms of water arcing over edges
Made for children to lean on and watch a bird?
They'd press the metal in their sticky palms and see a nimbus
Of acknowledgment, a conversation between cold and warmth,
Alive and sleeping.
Those children now beneath, as water leans into the door,
And opens it for other water, as the ship inhales at last, and sinks
Into the chilly bath it had grown so weary of resisting.