Leviathan

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Ahoy! On bowride below titans peep ghost ships of the Pacific hunt and chase - giant barnacled sea lords of the deep do baleen whales its clear blue waters grace. Beneath the waves in ocean migration fluking bulls and cows breach the feeding pod, and return to dive echolocation depths of Ahab and wreck of the Pequod. Yet still ghost ships the old hunting grounds scout its mystic echo whalesong far reaching, and still cavernous mouths unmade to shout trap by moon and tide on remote beaching. May no harpoon or flense sound its death throes and may long live the shout of “thar she blows!”. Written: July 1992

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