Dead Reckoning III

They work fingers to bone & borrow

smudged paper, then make promises

to family, unmerciful gods, the unborn.

Some eat a favorite meal three times

in a row. Others partake only a pinch

of soil before boarding half-broken boats

& rubber rafts — half of the young women

big with life inside them, flesh & blood

for daydreams of the Arabian nights,

as makeshift charts & constellations

work their way through war & rumors

of war. The smugglers count their loot.

Hard winds rattle gongs over sea salt

till the rusty engines die, & cries alert

mermaid sirens as pirated schooners

adrift under a mute sky rock to & fro,

& the fight goes out of the few alive.

Their loved ones & friends, lost folk

songs, mountains & valleys, all left

behind. Searchlights spot the dead

hugging the living, & draglines raise

only those who were braver than us.

The lucky ones stumble out of stupor,

tried by raging water beneath black

skies, listening to the albatross talk.