A rib arched above me,
my cathedral ceiling;
body fluids hummed
like a distant waterfall.
The blowhole was my rhythmic skylight.
A ledge of cartilage
doubled as table and desk.

Lulled by the slush-slush
of the great whale blood,
I felt washed clean of ego,
one with enveloping life.
The wisdom of all religions
brewed in me like a heady sap.

Nearby the lungs blossomed.
The cilia bowed, moist and rich.
I woke to crackles, gurgles,
the mighty inner tides.
So many rhythms at once!
I lay on my spongy couch
and marveled at everything.

Did I mention my wholesome diet
of seafood and algae?
My heart trouble was gone.
No doomsday deadlines,
no burning the forbidden images.
It takes so long to learn
to accept life as it is,
to swallow the whole whale -

Then the command: "Come out!
'Tis the beach nearest Nineveh."
I shouted back, "Hell, no, I won't go!"
In time I did come out,
set up shop in a scenic beach town
as a potter and a part-time psychic.

Now when twilight grays the flat roofs,
hushes the palm trees and bazaars,
and the wind in the tamarind grove
sighs like an old man,
I like to sit and dream
of the muted green sun of the sea
and the long, warm forgiveness of the whale.