We are all awash on a sea of blood and the least we can do is wave to each other
Steph, my love, here’s Dad snapped at sixteen on Broadway adrift in naval dress thousands of miles from home
Ten blocks north another Limey writes in a bar on 52nd Street We must love one another or die
We must love one another or die and he nearly did die the night he saw the periscope, minutes before the ship sank, another failure of love. We are all awash on a sea of blood, all flags.
I am awash in his blood He survived to sire me another son of the ocean where the organs bask like seals and show me his Wavy Navy cap and the Nessie periscope photo
Sweet Thames, flow softly while I sing my song Sweet Thames preserve us from the cold Atlantic run
The inland sea, incarnadine, connects the living and the dead Shades jostle on its shores
He might have been safe on a cliffed coast, secured by our love but he wasn’t. The sea is always with us, and he sank
Love roots in grief for the drowned who slipped out of sunlight
Shades crowd our hall loiter in the bedroom haunt memory, join us to the million generations
Take hands in the dark flesh, dust and breath Enough of waving
Dad, here’s Steph, my love