We want to weigh 150 tonnes
and be covered in grey-blue skin
smooth as oil. We want our lungs
to deflate into our chests
when we hunt
the midnight zone
so we never get the bends
while overlapping harmonies
burst through our tympanic bones.
We want a colony of barnacles
to armour the pink heart
of our vulvas and to take
the whole ocean against
our spines when we stretch.
To thrust our 26-metre length
outside the waves
in a crash of rainbow spray
for fun. We want to nurse
our 3-tonne calves on milk
so full of fat and protein
it’s thicker than ice-cream or butter
and those calves to have breath
and depth to grow even
bigger than we did.

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