I come out of the blue and see I am a whale. A whale in waves

of blue madonnas without a nose with jaws the royal blue


of ocean waves. I am full of blubber and bibles and Jonah

solemn as night reads both to me. We hear the continents


fall apart—they don’t know how to groan enough. I am a whale

and Jonah has lowly bent eyes. He asks such questions, such:


“How do you build an island from scratch?” I am strained by his beauty

by his wrapped in seaweed body. And it seems I have a childish belief


in the way he sits upon my tongue: weak life that leans

on uncertain things—surrounded in raw gobbets and flesh. I touch your ears—


Mine, mine, mine.