The fiery finger points ever outwards,

each wooden knuckle cracked and blackened

urging us toward the stars in the depths and the souls on the waves

of the dark rippling liquid

red-drenched by the spitting glow of the flares.

It moves through our hands

as the ash swirls around us

and we can see downward into eternity.

One step off the creaking old planks

and we can plunge into the sky,

immersed in the burning souls

to swim in oblivion

damned by that finger

ever pointing.