For a Naturalist Dead at Sea

by Adrienne Rich


We'll not deplore you, though we know what's gone
The sea in no laborious swell can haul
Back on our beaches; such a freight as yours
Will never deck our tideline. Out of love
You gathered learning, and your human kin
If loved no more than conches, than the race
Of crayfish or the childish porpoises,
Were yet well loved by you. We mourn to hear
Of bridegrooms gathered nightward by the gales,
Of boon companions chug-a-lugging brine,
Lost to the red interior, the benign
Circle of beer-lit faces. You, our friend
Were still the friend of all that crept or swam:
We cannot think you lonely where you end.

Why should we call you shoreward? You will speak
With the drowned captain drifting by the shoal
On which his ship was broken; you will hear
The lonely scuffle of the hermit crab
Seeking an empty tenement. The trail
Of nets and anchors off the human coast
Will not detain you, nor the squeak of rudders
Far overhead. Oh, you will loaf and drowse
By fans of seaweed nodding in the stir
Of ocean currents. You will drink the cream
Of the great wetnurse whale, and hear from her
The lullabies that make leviathan dream.