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And the whale will come

She touches me.
Alone, a body, flesh and blood
among a world of bodies, held by light
in circles dancing
I stand touching the fiery hair of a goddess.
Round and full she reaches out:
she wipes my brow, she strokes my skin.
The wind moves cool against the grain of her caress;
he tames her ardence, making fire love.
In the water floats the spittle of a man
who has neither lost a part of himself
nor returned a thing borrowed for a time.

To learn of mystery, of such suchness,
you must ask the ones who know.
Those wise will tell that it is knowledge
which you must go and find yourself.
Yet without the asking there can be no answer.

In the beginning was the sea.

And God made the whales whose hearts are vast,
vast as the ocean
vast as the drop of spittle
floating foam upon the surface.
I push my heart out forward, ever urging, ever greater
again, again to grow, to grow to know,
to start to ask the question. Shall I wait?

The whale will come.
The whale will come.

Michael Everson
San Diego, 1988-03-26

 
HTML Michael Everson, Evertype, 73 Woodgrove, Portlaoise, R32 ENP6, Ireland, 2002-09-09

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