not for our eyes

where white whales go

sometimes
when I dream

bits of my
soul
drop
down
like rain
on the great
river
with the
white whales

to play and
speak their

clicks, squeals, squeaks

I wake
full of joy

but not so much
anymore

there is
sadness in
the pods
and people

white
whales
are dying

full of
chemicals

then
are buried in
the toxic dump
as
hazardous wastes

is this the end
of joy?