Off the coast of Mykonos
among the Greek Isles
is a wreck more ancient
than any nation in existence.
Down among fearsome sharks,
apricot tinged angelfish and
moray eels with gaping mouths
lie amphoras spread on the floor
from where they fell out
as the ship rotted over ages.
You can see jelly fish floating
in crazy back-and-forths
following the turbulence
that keeps you from
stationary rest above it all,
yet the constant swimming
is made worthwhile by joy.
Swimming closer you see
where crustaceans pierced
some amphoras, leaving
holes in the pots from which
the wine leaked out, wasted
in the depths of the brine.
A few hundred yards away
a plane from World War II
lies flat on the bottom
cockpit shattered, guns bent,
already taking the patina
of coral, sponge and debris
fallen like mown grass that
covers the Nazi insignia.
Now there are two wrecks
which have outlived their
nation's terms on earth.
