I Wonder Over the Sound of a Dying Sea
by J. William Miller

Over the sound of a dying sea,
fast afloat I know the groan, the gasp,
a rattled urge to pass.
I hear the grunts of mother near her dead, along with all the love-begotten
songs ever borne or crooned by troubadour.

I wonder over the sound of a dying sea,
the dallying phantoms no more carouse
aboard each stricken ship,
emptied, eaten deep to air,
all the ghosts rolled starboard,
their underworld sailingdays at end.

Over the sound of a dying sea,
the gulls drag wind, keening,
woebegone, beaks bowed,
caught in the mourning-stance of clouds.
Stately falcons plunge waveward,
eyes transfixed on the cadavers of fish.

I wonder over the sound of a dying sea,
how might this mortal ocean
usher the birds east
to her sister's teeming waters,
as nearing vaporescence,
her corpse throws towards a breathdiminished silence.

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