This year saw again hundreds of crucifxions
the witness knew only one, and innocence fled.
Hers was an undocumented life, her children
and sea-sick home conveyed by her spider-strong thread.

Repairing all the patterned coats reaching her hand
holding one, then the next, like dreams through her morning.
All those new faces learnt geometry in the flight of a stone
similarly they'd learn to swim in time, or sink.

The more recent travesty replaces the old
and witnesses record in song their great sorrow
like a decorative stitch which will hold for the day
but need help promising the same for tomorrow.

Tears for the sea cried this tensile human spirit
spurning collaboration to carve a way through.
Only from the deepest point would she bear witness
cries from there resound with the clarity of truth.