whales from shore,
forty percent of the population
two hundred in the bay, more.
Spouts like iron
doors opening,
on the water, plumes twenty-
five, thirty, I stopped counting.
When I couldn’t see
the whales the sun
shone on their bodies,
like beacons
across the water.
The world had been
quiet enough for me.
I kept walking
to hear the whales
breathe, & then
this sound, what was it?
Beside the water a woman.
I heard the first thud,
then another,
thud thud
thud thud out there
What is that?
Is it the whales
coming down?
Their tails?
I hope it’s not
a war, she said
& it did sound
like shots fired,
or small bombs
dropped, thud again
as if now a war could
rise out of the ocean,
the white fog.
Here at the end
by water, a cold
land surrounded April.
One of four new calves
a girl found,
towed to shore
dead at midnight.
I’d walked out,
the water both of us
& I said no,
there in the near dusk,
it’s the whales, only
five hundred & twenty-five
worldwide still
hungry & alive.
