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A Blue Whale's Shout

(i)

Sea bottom, the womb harboring night,
has given me more space than night
just before it groans and roars into a thunderstorm.
Just before I storm into myself, pricked by cold.

I'm cold. I'm clothed in diced ice.
Let me climb back to my world's deck.
Throw over the beaming flowers

of a Jacob's ladder stretching out a hilly,
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Friday, May 8, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: life
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7/25/2021 1:26:21 PM # 1.0.0.663