Drops of Nevermore

Two by two, the dead walked out of the sea,

the tired waters swinging in a steel gate tempo.

Barefoot shadows spread on white sand -

fistfuls of water running in rivulets of sorrow.

Hair dripping and eyes glazed, struggling

into the silence of promising light beckoning

ocean’s tent covered sins, washed bones,

sea sweating and soaking their brows,

broken fingernails and wrinkled skin.

Ocean waxed calm and hearts answered,

the dead contained in bubbles of sea eyes

as they trudged through turtle shell seas,

butterscotch moon’s scaffold sheltering

fetid whisky breath and rheumy eyes,

meeting maker in drops of nevermore -

death a companion of watery guests.