The life that spirals from the sea-cave
like a serpent-root, a curious
labyrinth etched across
the limestone of a vaulted nave –
the dappled sparkling of infant
vortex of an unknown
casket – Easter-packet – font
of raven-crumbs, beside the Po.
Or Ishmael’s hieroglyph –
of pregnant galaxy below
afloat now, circling – a living hand,
an arm, forehead, eyebrow...
emergent tar minnow –
Tad Pole, or Polly Wag, some sand-
borne seaweed driftwood Jane...
Christa on crossties, or
IONAH (in Paradise). Your
Queequeg is a queer cuss, man,
but OK – floats all right – can even
swim. His Ariadne-
boles are capillary –
vein his bones into a crown
of 50 stars (for Jubilee).
The echo-cave is empty...
only Eureka! She
has found him! crows (from sea to sea).