Blue Whale


the waves move silently beneath us;
half a moon away, under the equatorial
and unforgiving stars, I watch
as the ocean turns her sides towards us
dark strips of silence through the black water.

you were moving beside me,
your soft skin piercing the ocean’s deep
and your quiet eye staring me in the soul.


it was daylight;
the tiny lake-boat
shook and rattled
against the Pacific,
fragile (as bones) in these
rough waters.

your father on the wheel,
stoned and silent at sea;
Diane by his side, drinking
beer before water
and talking nervously
to herself.

I watched the horizon—
seagulls and pelicans
holding tight to tall rocks,
the waves breaking white
and frothy against their
salty feathers.

until she rose.


there is no silence
like her pewter body
rising a half-moon
above the frothy surface of earth
and falling heavy
back to mother.