The boy, burning deck-wood
falling char-steamed into the sea,
recites Casabianca but stammers over
"Love" in each line.
The poor ship cinders into midnight,
the poem left ill-read,
the boy, a failure, adorable, left drowning.

The boy, bubbling burnt-air
seizing toward the surface after the ship,
enunciates "Love" with mouthfuls of seawater,
Casabianca finished only after the fire's smothered.
The poor poem, like a schoolhouse
sunk under the weight of fiasco,
never moved the swimming sailors, the doomed captain.