A young sperm whale just half the sixty feet
of an adult
washed up

at Patrick's Point

Lying at low tide
on the rocks
a ways offshore
from Agate Beach
her body dark
and a bit sad
to look at
hardly menacing

My friend Bill
practiced in the art
of making fish prints
brought a roll
of paper
maybe five feet wide
with a supply of ink
and made a print
of the whale's flukes
a dozen feet across

A sperm whale's flukes
in life a gracful form
of power and beauty
captured on paper
in a gesture
honoring this
wild creature's death

Meanwhile someone before us
had absconded with the ivory teeth
for scrimshaw I suppose
a precious plunder
but to me an act
of wanton desecration

Within a week the whale
had washed away
returned to ocean depths
now food for crabs
for fish and gulls
feeding the life
from which she came

Grey whales are common
up and down the coast
a sperm whale though
conjurs up thoughts
of whaling ships
of Moby Dick and Ahab's
hapless crew

And this one left me
even in her death
somehow shaken
changed
as when in dreams
a creature from the wild
gazes with eyes
that seem to understand
your loss
your banishment
from their more deeply felt
more soulful world