Poetry

Into the purple waves, feet first,
along a whale's back
stuck with barnacles and whorls of worms
slips the man from the boat
who used to be a priest, then a rabbi,
buttoning his macintosh.

kersplash!

the whale glides off, laughing and spouting
the boat drifts off, the sun comes out
the atolls drift and shift, the heaven popsicle green.

'Isn't it lovely?' sputters the man
(who has lost his stove pipe) emerging
back into the air. 'Isn't it lovely?'