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A tempest dissolved, a passion unturned.
Waves nursed themselves back to calm,
as a serenading stillness returned to the night.
Then out came a mighty sound, as she settled into her boat.
The black sea monster rose, with an unflinching poise.
It stayed still and peeked up at her little boat.
She put down her wine glass as she carefully
paused to admire the enormous life form.
A moment of meek silence passed by another.
None spoke, eyes fixated in quietude.

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The monster’s eyes showed no signs of monstrosity,
no reflections of devious desires,
no desperate claws hunting for a scent of fear,
no look of dripping hunger to consume her guts.

Was it the very beast that literature had fantasized?
Was it the beast, accused merciless in its endeavors,
slaying men who held harpoons?
Was it the beast whose fangs were said to
tear apart a mariner’s ship in…

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