What is the ocean if it is not a god?
Look how it reclines.
Look how it has in its mind the whole world.
Look how supple its body still is,
how the salt in its wounds, the strength in its arms give it
Look how it reclines on its hip, one knee bent,
one elbow on rocks
above the porpoise and the octopus.
Look how its hair is coiled
How full its young beard still is.
What is this ocean
of whales and seals if it is not a god?
What is that sound
if it is not the yawn of a god bending over fountains
that pour out everything at once?
I can see the look in its eye as it reclines,
an overblown statue
of itself in our minds.
There is no mercy in its eyes,
no bend in its lips. The water falls from its brows,
from its shoulders and thighs.
What is it if it is not a god?
What is it we plunge into like this?