Two drifting ships
Sails tattered
Crew absent
Longing for direction

A passing sea breeze
Begins to tip them
Their sails collide
And wrap into a cocoon

The sea invades their wounds
Burning their insides
They drift down
Holding their cloth child aloft

As their masts begin to vanish
The cocoon sits still
Wings too small to fly yet
The hungry ocean grasps for it

No migrant moth escapes
The ships sink
The child soaks
The bitter salt empties the horizon

~Galwyn

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