Whale Eyes

I wander this earth a nomad,
mindful of my home
and shaped by it.
Yet when we meet,
you see only form and clay substance,
not my eyes.

When I grow old,
and I grow a beard,
masking the unstable flesh,
you will notice my whale eyes.
Unperturbed, they remember,
and they look into another world —
one mystic, silent, vast as the cosmos,
filled everywhere with music.
My soul lives there still.

And someday —
even before I pass from this earth,
even in this form —
I will dive away again.
The light of heaven (behind my eyes)
will guide me in oceanic chasms
as I plunge through,
by day to roam in lovéd dark,
by night to rest in ancient arms.
Oh my home,
Oh deep transport.

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