A beast of green dreams and mythic breath,
its jaw opens wide—and there, lined like a terrible grin, the white teeth of the Titanic.

Each window a whisper,
each cabin a ghost,
its voyage halted mid-bite
by the sea’s cold fury.

Two blazing eyes—one sorrow, one memory—
gaze above a mountain of flame and foam, as smokestacks curve into antennae, listening for stories that still echo beneath the waves.

Its serpent-body coils with history, its arms cradle ruin and ritual, as if to say: we never forget what sank inside us.