Next to the whale's skeleton the human one
is meant to demonstrate how large the head
that stored oil to light our dimmest rooms.
We can see our ribs, hinged and emptied

of our hearts and guts, contrast with this
room-sized cage and spine. Though displays
boast corsets, lamps with their burnt wicks
to say we are half-clever in our way,

there is no fathoming our best skill.
Nimble-souled, we sift and save some days,
scrape memory from the blubbery detritus
of Time, off the wet deck, washed away.

Devout to such distortion, caught off-guard,
we are hooked by any instant, and then, barbed.