sands were
s h i f t i n g
while ghosts of the shore
whispered to us
and the church bells
tolled from the drowned city
in haunting
wistful
smothered
clangs
from beneath the
lethal waves

every winter solstice,
while the graves in the
one
remaining
church
stir with purpose,
life continues to escape,
clawing its way out of the
deep, black water
releasing its souls while
church bells
ring
on their own and
we huddle on the shore
watching our spirits
dance
with
death