High-hatted despot exits
his car at the moment 
that the sea must part
from the men.

It is a cold January morning.
The grey clouds 
cast an iron 
stillness over the sea.

The despot feels a tickle
at the back of his throat
rushes through the prayers
but does not forget

to tie a string
to the great gold cross.

Because while boys and men
may dive into the blind depths,
come up for air
bob and throttle

to raise the prize,
he must clutch 
at the thread, knowing
that by himself

Jesus does not float.

Maria Poulatha