A Photograph Dying Of Whales
The tide stalled in its wet retreat.
A few figures held at a distance,
Who must realize the upturned boats
Are whales.
What kindness brought them there?
We cannot save them they belong
To the water they wish they had not left.
The next day begins to plan itself.
The sea takes and takes. Grey dulls.
Gulls please their tongues.
Nothing is lost. In time we will take home
Sea-cleaned bones. The photographer had
Trouble walking upon that sand who took
The first light of remembered day.
Susan Bazett