At the impasse
beside this night,
bodies arrive
to be washed
and the hour returns
to botched rites:
incomplete burials,
baptismal fonts gone dry,
the hands and their memory
opening to waters opened
by a perfect vessel
at the peak of its wake
having only ever wanted
to be released, explained.
Now a scorched earth
flames a storm
to absolve the eyes
for turning away
and now what
to do with this
wreck but watch
for the strange fish
to find it, for the
coral to collect
to begin again
that cycle of
looking to be
fed.
