Benediction
The first one of us that night to spot
A remote blow of mist like a geyser
Grabbed the nearest binoculars,
Passing around second and third pairs.
We peered into the deep slate
Expanse of shifting tidal waters.
Where breached an ovaloid,
Mottled grey body, its fin a beacon.
A second form surfaced,
Followed by more, a conclave
Of endangered right whales,
Plumes of vapor exhaling skyward.
A decade on, we still watch for them
In the evenings, greeted by the stillness
Of the water, the repetitive glare
Of the lighthouse upon a single tugboat,
And the recession and ascension
Of the tides lulling and languid.
We know that these creatures will not visit us again,
That sanctity enkindles wonder because of its rarity.
But we persist in looking upon the world with
Magnifying eyepieces, in comfy socks, mugs of tea steeping.
We wait for manifestation, the mythic memory
Of their appearance yielding a fervent hope.