Adrift
All through night's long and
unsupported hours—
ocean's pitching black, its surge and scoop,
the power of its flick and suck
relentless flick and suck—
Barely seaworthy, a boat
lurches
too low in inky slops,
staggering:
a heavy press of bodies in
queasy dark, an intimacy of faces where
stories grip—
the small hands of children—
around necks, fingers—
voices
desperate across
blank water—
words swallowed
in a heaving dark.