Take me down, Leviathan.
Roll my weary bones in
your fathomless embrace.
Listen, brother: the land, my home,
spit me out like a cracked seed.
Better to shiver out here, stormwracked,
under an honest gunmetal sky,
than let them in my life and love.
The brine that cakes my skin
is as sweet as honey
to this willing Jonah.
Blessed now, and wind-driven far
from the Sirens,
this exiled child of the sun
will find his final truth
in surging, green-hued halls
far, far from any shore.
*
*
Painting by R. Waiksnis,
“Storm and Sea”
