The Whales

(As Published in Silhouettes of Stardust)

“The Whales are writing poetry about us,”

or so you say.

“They wonder about the sparkling cities

that lie deep within our shores.”

The Whales are writing poetry about us,

like I am writing poetry about you.

They wonder, as I do,

what it means…

The word kiss is as untranslatable

as the poems they sing

back and forth at the bottom of the sea.

As untranslatable as love.

“Let them sing their rhyming couplets,” you say,

their sonnets, limericks, and haikus.

“Let them do their flips and wonder about the deep dark rooms

that lie behind our eyes.

Let them dance among the waves an instant.”

“My arms are warm around you.

My love blooms ever green,”

you remind me, as the whales take their poetry

and fade into the cold, blue, deep.

“Yes,” I say

but what does that mean?