After the sinking, the water carried the inevitability of death like a relentless undertow. Some passengers on the lifeboats tried to save others, while some rowed away in desperation. It was said that the cries for help resembled the wails of tortured souls.
Only in the summer, when the chill sets in, do they continue to echo through the stillness of a quiet, moonlit night. I feel the gnawing silence that bites through my bones. Has it always been there? Do you still remember, hours later?
Are the bodies that cling to your frame like rainwater remnants of the wreck?
To the beloved, forsaken shipwreck…