Silence falls in drops like rain:
A sprinkle, a shower, a fall,
Then a deluge
That sweeps me away
In the vast and merciless
Mystery of itself
No up or down,
No daylight or dark
In this secret space.

So it is.

Silence is a watery death.

What do you say to, for, about
A drowned man
A young man
A loved man
A beautiful man
Who died at sea

Riveted to his battle station
And believing above all else
In the mother who sent out his
Christmas cards

Because he was too busy
Having fun

Before that last patrol?

Silence is a watery death.

I'd go there for the answer--
What was it like to be you, to be there, 
To do this thing?--

But I'd want to come back
And tell it over and over
Again.

The photo above is my great-grandfather, Harvey Isbell (left), and his fourth child, Laurence Isbell. Laurence served on the USS Herring and was lost at sea when the Japanese sank his submarine. My Uncle Bud (Allan Isbell) took this photo in my great-grandfather's backyard before Uncle Laurence left home for his last tour in 1944.

One Single Impression