Iambago Dulche

Iambo Dulche the ship's

Wake of century breaks

When the dead fish are swooped upon

By omnipresent gulls.

And King is stopped by post-war decadence.

Torches now weld a different sheet:

The sheet of creased anger

Which half a century ago

Coiled itself in sunshine

Until dusk,

And then began to prowl.

Green, envious eyes

Panning for their need.

Winter over Antarctica -

Long and permanently apparent.

When finally the rivulets drop,

Is that strangeness of guilt?

Awaken that rumble

As the mountains collide

And fear the iceberg.

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You're at the bottom!