Where I stand on the crest of a choking planet
there on the bowstring of my heart wound tighter
which releases first in F sharp then C Minor

But it isn’t the same at all
fails to conjure up those colors
for compared to the whale
even the lion’s heart pales
becomes a very small thing

No heart can sing like that
like that which echoes through rock crescent and pink coral canyons
on the flip side, on the inside
and underneath a dying world
the other half of the coin
that’s where my dreams say I’m going to

Deep blue rushes of thrill you
shooting here, there
softly flowing then quickly darting
slowing my speed to the water that clutches
adoringly and long
to the complex love song of whales

There is a long crying quality
the rich currency that is the tempo
and melody of these things
they harken back, much farther back than you
farther back than even the electric harpoon
it’s a groan, a stomp that cuts at the center of the earth
the way wolves cry so lonely at the moon

I dream for weeks and weeks and weeks
of the suffering of gentler things
dream a long chain dissolving and undone
I dream for weeks and weeks and weeks
of the things that die one last time and are gone

No sons, no daughters, no last chances
no final gifts left behind

An uneasy sleep soothed only by my soft plucking
of a she-spider from the floor
placed then on a safer wall
to continue the conducting
of an eight-armed and silent symphony
to the hidden
to the loving
to the ever-fading colors
of the long, complex song of whales