Hi.

Whale Watching

A cargo of sightseers draws
sedately clear
of Bar Harbour, watercolour dawning
and gull-filled air

whips across the prow, drains
the flushed colour
from faces weighed haggardly down
by matted hair.

The flock of terns the lighthouse draws
in their silence clears
my mind enough to make it dawn
on astonished ears

that a mournful wail gently drowns
out the low-geared
thrumming engines; echoes and resounds
beneath us, where

the whale basks, singing. As if drawn
up by a clear-
minded artist who'd ordained
such unwary

carelessness, its cragged, drawn
forty-odd-foot glare
is half-dreaming, half-drowning
in air and water.

Thanks,
Dave.