Through humid hued blue
the white whale weaves
a starling dance for
the darkened room
fins fanning
massaging
vast masses of water
transparent trembling
body of the sea…
Marine mammal
stretching out
its elastic skin
while its vast and massive hips
weave wave
wander
through salty pastures
of branching thallus and sargasso…
Could it be a child,
the white white whale?
Could it be an adult
shipwrecked animal moon?
Or centenarian
a submarine cetacean ship?
Lady mistress of that aquatic place
imagining herself
solitary sovereign
she parades tranquil on the liquid runway
and reveals
the choreography of a star
and sings solfeggios
of old love songs ancient of ancients
and flirts
without knowing herself the prima donna
of a mega-spectacular
without foreseeing
that intimacy exposed
by the footlights of a thousand eyes
throughout the whole surrounding globe…
How can the sea so vast
fit between sofas?
How can the sea touch us
if it doesn’t wet our skin?
At night all cats are black
At night we are all jonas and pinochios
housed in the belly of the room
that strange whale
whose walls bowels
the ocean invades
and laps till it grows late…
And so we are another sort of fish
caught in the meshes
of an electronic web.
Cabral, Astrid. “White Whale.” Trans. Alexis Levitin. Cage. Austin: Host Publications, 2008. pp. 21-23.
