sea song

The light is oceanic green, and makes hexagonic light on the platform, with claws and gewgaws of light.

Each side of the monolith forms a point, and when the moon shines coldly

from the cowl of space (a bell, liquid, as sound expands and gets thicker in the sea).

Now a sea song

Descending like a cork on her waves, Floating on her water wall?

Although the darkness made us slaves to the moon’s arresting call.

I could not break from its cold grasp so bound our paths would be

Each drifting sound her liquid bell made us the whale-dense sea.

Each bottle fell to the sailor’s bones; a house on the oceans’ floor

And inside her bricks which opened there I saw a rising velvet door.

A grove of spikes: When the Quaker hunter espoused nonviolence, and stuffed his musket,

Sharpened his hook, with its long sisal and hemp rope, into a puffing heart

Bigger than an oat-fed baby, he turned in the dewlight like a battering ram.

True intoxication gurgled up in a thermos of adventure. They’d go out from Massachusetts for years.

They were looking, but their prey were listening.

~Whale Poem, Sean Singer

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