so quiet were they

for fear of the Coast Guard

that Jesus fell asleep standing in the stern:

there weren't two square feet continguous

for lying down

and, of course, cushions of any size

were out of the question.

sixteen hours of directed drifting

loosely pushed by a geriatric engine

that spent most of its strength

coughing and wheezing

as eight hundred younger breaths

drew in sharply to swallow the noise.

so quiet were they

packed together

amplified by the sea

that not soul heard their cry

drowning.

Jesus himself on his feet asleep

too deep to be roused

went down

with the scream unheard in his ear:

DON'T YOU CARE THAT WE ARE PERISHING?

God knows what they'd left behind

in Syria, in Iraq, in Africa—

enough sorrow to sink a battleship;

someone, probably a child,

must have snuck it with them,

which would explain

this silent sinking suffering

way out at sea.