Whale

It was dark inside her, and cold.
Just when I began to dry, another
Gulped wave would soak my feet
And start the chill again.

But I was never hungry for fish
And her spout pulled the fresh
Air into the cabin of my keeping.
The echo of her ribs offered

My songs a richer level of hymn.
And so I stayed and grew pale
And slept and composed and this
Is how I became her voice

Narrating the end of us.