' 'God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that
plague thee thus!
Why look'st thou
so?'—With my cross-bow
I shot the Albatross.
from Rime
of the Ancient Mariner
by
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Surely the world has been knocked off its axis,
tilting towards menacing, demonic Betelgeuse
rather than faithful, beatific Polaris,
shattering the righteousness of compass
points.
Nature withers at the root, and the time
is out of joint.
The sun and rain can no longer sign
treaties
or find a fair and just armistice.
Saharan heat boils the Gulf of Mexico
while madmen who cannot add or subtract
clamber up marble steps to proclaim that the
sky is falling,
to chant “Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the
dogs of war.”
The Black Death breathes heavy on the fool,
the snow leopard curling in its den
outside the icy gates of Tucson
while the San Andreas grinds its stone
teeth
in anticipation of human sacrifice.
As for me, I choose to swim in the wake of
the whale—
the humpback, right, blue, and gray—
as it travels ancient routes in
blue-green grace
and sings love songs now lost in
translation.
Let others ply the wake of rush hour
traffic.
I choose the mariner’s phosphorescent
seas,
flukes carving cursive script, a scripture
rich in liquid vowels and sacred nouns
that speak of Omega’s distant rise
and a return to the bare breast of
innocence,
to the spirit hovering over the deep
before it recreates paradise.
~William Hammett
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