The calm sea
cloudless day
a fine mist offshore
holds the island Santa Cruz
Holy Cross
in a pose as if she floats
perhaps unmoored
asking to retreat
the recent horrors
that rimmed her shore
truly at her feet
now a cemetery
for thirty-four
flamed, then taken under
where fleshy strands of kelp
reached up as if to help
enfolding what was given them
in watered catacombs.
All that ocean rocking
that fire filled vessel
a human crematorium
all that water could not stave
the flames
the holy cross
drowned in grief
all ocean
all pain.


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