Always, near the sea, a floating remnant,

a decision, the inescapable,

ships a way out, a glass cabinet

of sorrow.

For some, Smyrna. 
In the Aegean, captains wait.

Masses sink into smoke, disappear in fire,

rot like kelp.

Elsewhere, in hallways, suits talk,

eat plums.

For others, Smyrna.