C. at Sea

Swim.
And she will swim
Far past the dolphins who sport, spout to fluke,
Far past wave-slapped hulks,
Their sound the sound of a thousand mouths
Puckered 'round a thousand stones.

Stones.
And stones
Black with wet,
Black as sharks' eyes,
Barnacled Arguslike,
Bear her down.

Down.
Down past wrecks whose flecks of rust she will inspect,
The dream of which
No longer a wish
But an act.

Ache.
And she will ache
As we all ache;
God's tears, we,
A diluvian rain, we

Drown.