Lusitania.

The dream that followed served the first one:

Skulls disintegrated beneath the pearly 

Teeth of an earthmover.

Meanwhile, gladiolas rose in an effort

For peace.

The world and where you work is substandard,

So everybody

Figures fuck it. One day all the dog fighters

And dogs will die in this eminent domain 

Of peace we feel in our bodies.

The swale in which the lively bathe, and the dust in

Which the sedentary sit share a border. But

There, distant past, we worried ourselves breathless 

Remembering history’s Lusitania

And grief crept over us like sunset.

You might never have felt such captive culpability for

Your own breath, but I have.