Houseboats

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Inspired by a tremendous haiku on Lize Bard

Why would the water be dead?
We have hope, enough to pour
into lost loams,
and to remember the lilies singing
one night past midnight
a long time ago.
Afloat they were on the darkest
green backgrounds of palms upturned,
creased with worry
atop a watery grave, I suppose.
We hugged as its mouth opened
and it breathed one night,
we nearly died of fright, but it
sucked them all in;
maybe we ignored their cries
due to sanity
tugging at our sleeves –
maybe cowardice too,
but with survival utmost in our minds.