The Rescue

All our debris above the sunken ship
                                                — we among it —

in what seemed a chosen patch
                                            of the sea's dark gloss.

The pricked sky arced over like a slipcover; its edges

dipped into the water.
                                    By the time the helicopters

dropped down their spotlights and helibaskets,

white-rolled the surf
                              with the force of their hovering,

we lived only in the thought of our rising

——

As we rose on our pallets of wire, I could see

the portholes far below, glowing
                                            with those lights

we'd read by, dressed by, turn on and off blindly —.

Just beads now — clearly there,
                                              but as distant from us

as a score is from its music. They dimly greened

the surface, pressed the debris
                                            up into its meanings.

Then, just as we angled away, they all blinked out,

silently,
          and the sea might as well have been empty.

Copyright © 2008 Wayne Miller All rights reserved
from Green Mountains Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission