While a fisherman cast his nets, two jets
left Libya, flying low over the Med waving
sunshine below, and back on the street,
placards high in the square, two hundred
people fell strafed from the air.
Jets over Libya screamed down at the crowd and
snuffed out those voices getting louder than loud
like the roar of the engines over the wave
of the sunshine reflected by people who gave
up their lives while the life of the one who
oppressed them escapes to be sheltered by
others who stress them.
Two jets left Libya carrying souls for refueling,
while deep in the ocean our fish are re-schooling
and fishers are floating whether distant or near,
remaining alive to the screaming we hear.