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.