Friday, August 07, 2009


For Ahab it counts. The monumental water conceals
Moby Dick, the tempo of nightfall, and the drowned.
Leave us to our melancholy as we sail onward.

We find the Pequod and we pursue it; and that speck
On the forecastle is him. The sea stabs at us; and a cry
Is heard, "Have you seen the white whale?" The others
Become men, our discovered country, as the Rachel leans
In their direction. We have also run hard on the whale,
Upon the plundered ocean. Ahab, help us.

Do not hurry us to the end of time, going to seed
In rooms full of rag dolls without our lost children,
Or escaped to some such tattooed island, weeping
Beside the stumps of trees in a burned orchard,
Unrecognizable. We are not unreasonable.
But it is not in Ahab's nature to help us.

How can we leave our lost children? You who rage,
You won't help us? You with your elbows on the maps?
Whereas we have only your Ishmael now, who alone
Survives; let his charmed life be enough.

Leave us to our melancholy as we sail onward.

Our seaworthy Rachel means what to us? She resembles
The good ship the Argonauts took up on their shoulders
When Jason reminded them that they must carry the mother,
She, who once carried them. A wave, an inscrutable sea,
Almost a dream, lays us out on dry land.

copeland morris ENTWINED SONNET

Her shaded eyes, her necklace black velvet, onyx. Anguish she spoke; and he carried on, obsessed As only a young man could. An odd harm...