Whales once abounded like fish
close to the shore
swimming trustingly into this cove
where men swept them
into nets, never sailing out to sea
Oh the wealth that filled their nets
gushing into a gold era
when whales were plundered
for baleen and blubber
oil and winter light
teeth and bones engraved
with men’s stories
saved as legends
until
greed pushed the kindly giants
Into farblown oceans
where whales made routes through
roiling currents- ocean valleys
And bold crested wave hills
while wizened-skinned men chased after them
far and wide
until they became herded nomads
escaping from the trade that
valued and effaced them
hiding and gliding
navigating with calls and songs
under sonic moonlight
Invisible echolocation
banding and bonding
roaming the expanse of the world
no end to their ocean home
but, no place to rest
Today, seagulls commandeer the harbor
Where ships plow slowly toward
the wharf
docking quietly
gone are the seamen of aforetime
With ruddy wrinkles and ropey arms
Yet new seamen
are banding and bonding
raising spats from oyster specks
And tossing them into the cove
to grow humbly-clinging
to piles and piers
their ignoble humped backs
absorbing waste
creating a reserve of lime
each oyster
churning gallons of water
filtering phosphorus and brine
turning ocean water into primordial wine
Giving from inside out
the meekest of creatures
restore the harbor
returning the treasure of life
to the shores and the sea
And when should a whale return?
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