t'was naught but the depth,

that sea that trapped Me,

hindering plowing troughs and engorged bellies

of waves on the carcass of a wood-carven boat,

t'was naught but the depth

that dragged She below. 

 

Thus the moonlight would show

in bitter grey orbs

a fantastic light show

beneath the cold water hoards.

A shattered image,

a light at the top,

A cold soul would rummage

the bottom-sea drop.

 

Thus the carcass was tilt;

a shapeless body.

The wood was split,

within that mournfoul lobby,

encased with the waves

the crushing sea-belt

closed eyes where She lays,

at the seabed in kelp