Whalefall

The sea is a state of grace
A parent who speaks to us in tidal murmur
Leaves notes in rockpool and touches us with rain
We draw our hand along its shifting skin
The hand a hull
To dredge oxytocin and cod
Beneath these surfaces
Distance draws away from distance to
Hide the dance of life
Over a drifting carcass mother

Our ignorance on this matter is forgivable
We cannot fathom our place of birth deep in hydrothermal vents
That was aeons ago in the world's deep
Subconscious
Its sulcus trenches of earth
Proterozoic silence exists to preserve us from ourselves

Besides, what creation need know its source
And what maker would demand that it learn
That the unthinkable darkness teems with life is enough
Our return is inevitable
Every pair of lungs is destined to be filled with saltwater
Which is, itself, a type of benediction
Whalesong has always been the purest type of prayer
Coral our greatest cathedral

None of this is an allegory
Here is the allegory
Between your Ionian silence and Celtic fury lies a space
A specific depth
That waits for me to return and make it whole

Yet, watching your sputtering shorelines
I know I never will



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