(Below the waterline, aft,
in the hold, in the stench
of defecation, the half-dying.
Again their breathing,
slowed. Prisoners,
slaves, those of yet-to-be
determined status.
Memories of mangrove,
kampong. Dark water,
to-and-fro in wavelets
across the board floor.
Dominion. And less than
half-seen midst creaking timber,
fleshy moans, far sailors'
voices, and the near, guiding
muteness of departure, rudder
aching against water's
hissing mass.)