The intelligent eye in the living cliff
Passes you by and dreams that if
There are those men who love all life,
No harpoon gun, no flensing knife,
No factory ships where whale gore drips,
There lives, perhaps, another me
And that one day he may just see
The fountain breath that says that death
Has failed to close this other eye
That passes by and by and by.
One final chance for us to live,
To love, to touch, to sing, to sieve,
To feel our voices fill the ocean
Far from any ship’s commotion,
And in a last spumescent sigh
In silent seas together die.