Whale Wail / Benjamin Rozonoyer
— for Phillip Neal Tippin
Verifiable, real thrill,
to carry with me the krill.
Aquinas, hast thou not spilt
a kilobyte from a quill of ink?
Convinced that the globe is flat,
thy superposed whale won’t sink.
A gam of blues whales pass
the gap where the sand creek flows —
a shadowy shallow place
where lives with its likes the Goose,
or limps in its lieu the Ghost.
as he was sinking
saw from below
what his thoughts were thinking:
the whale filling,
the living kneeling,
the ceiling tipping.
Whale Wail: Copyright 2021 by Benjamin Rozonoyer. All rights reserved.