With my poor little head

parched from so much poetry, I try

understand

the heart of the whale.

If we were left alone in the world
and we sat down to look at the sea
maybe we'd drink a beer,
without forgetting that we are one
antagonist of the other,
and after exhaling the smoke of humor
I would ask the whale
why.

She would know what I'm talking about.
It would not be necessary to add other words.

I know the silence would envelop us
during several days. Maybe years.

And one afternoon or one morning the whale
would stretch your body
like waking up from a civilization
and she would throw herself into the sea.

My poor little head would continue
trying to understand

past the twilights
To my feet
A closed bottle would arrive.
the note inside
scribbled as it could
I would say best:

Because she is in my nature.