By Pavel Chichikov
I remember the fleet in the river
Long hulls with grey skins
Guns like fingers, blunt ends pointing
Turrets low in the autumn sunshine –
How many who were there can still remember?
How many dead are not remembered
Except by someone old who loves?
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)
