Orcas on the Strait

The air is clean across the strait.
Waves break, perhaps hide orcas
while we pass over close shoals,
out to the open water where whales
watch from far beneath.

I send you photographs and messages
to let you know I won’t forget those
spare moments we share in common.
I know so little of your habits;
a collection of stories and anecdotes.
I know only that your eyes are
rings of plaintive March skies.

I know you are afraid, in a moment,
fearless in how you approach me.
On the outer deck today, everybody is
snapping photographs, silver-plated seconds.
They are laughing at gulls racing us then
scattering at sudden pulls of the ship’s horn.

September is turning down the shades on Summer,
but I am underwater with the orcas, watching.