Watching the building of warships in Maine

Creatures of steel have no words,

no mouths – just guns.

 They have lights in place of eyes,

 and no men yet aboard.

They do not speak and their engines

are not hearts.

The river cradles them like knives,

wrapped in cloth under pale August sky.

 No one is thinking of death

 when we are told of their escorts,

 the tugs, to take them down

and away, off across the ocean somewhere we cannot see.