Dream tinted by madness: news of ships getting lost in the distance, salt ache speaking through women’s mouths. In someone’s hands I read her helplessness. News now splintered like their bodies before.
They reappear, eyes on us. All likelihoods of terror collected in the spasm of knowing they’re alive somewhere, breathing an ash air that carries them far away, farther than death.
Somebody screams out their names, but we’re the ones being called.