Replying to a comment on:
Whales in Gastineau Channel (Free verse) by zodiac
Cars parked on the shoulder. Seaward
an orca with her calves breaches as though
mere air should buoy her as much as salt water.
The crowd here wishes it were so:
Nikons and anoraks, they hoot each time she
thrusts skyward and, finding slim purchase, thrusts
again, hard, beating wind with her huge flukes,
becomes more air- than sea-borne, finally sinks.
Me, I canât understand this yen that makes
one give up liquid for gas, something tenuous
for something always fragiler. I ache
for earth's kiss, your floating skin press.