Who keeps the tally of all the names

appearing on the list of those engulfed,

waterlogged below the shimmering emerald plane

brimming with secrets buried in Davey Jones’ treasure

just offshore where the mountains meet the sea?

Explorers from foreign lands,

Merchant Adventurers and

Masters of the sea,

disregarding weather cues,

weary widows walking, teary eyed

and overwhelmed by heartbreaking loss,

submerged now beside unfortunate pirates

who walked the plank into the

deep mystique of Davy Jones locker.

Lives cut short by –

the length of a glassine gangplank,

misstep on a slippery deck, or

an unsuccessful struggle

through stormy seas,

sending them drifting downward

weightlessly deeper and deeper still,

below Maine’s rocky shoreline,

endlessly swirling, churning

in powerful tidal currents

past where the coral gardens grow,

sole witness to schools of blind fishes

who swim throughout Davy Jones locker,

fathoms below, in icy green water

at the bottom of the sea.

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