It’s the day before the day before.
The sky is still blue. Which vessel for the DNA –
lightship or coal barge or helicopter-padded yawl?

Best know the route: weather is not your forte.
Drowning is a matter for all hands, one set yours.
Skyless, ocean-blank, the future storm where we split,

your boat becalmed over the drowned or rent, my Help!
loud, then not. Giant waves sluice genes as many
as sunken stars, or boxes that don’t float.