you ask me why we sat
on the banks of the tides of Humber
spake works and quarreled with the world
like a broken masted ship
and behind us times wing’d chariot
drew ever near
the paint dripping like tears
on a page from the past craving decipherment
from a past deeper still
soon we are all ash and timber and drowned sails
we fly our ensign only once
like the heart of the last little tugboat
gives out and crumples like a paper cup
Flynnpoetry 