after Herbert

One cunning bosum-sin blows quite away.
Oh, but is it sin – this gravel chest splayed open,
exposing all that throat or breath might say?
And do you sense my nerve, by line outspoken,
that pushes us to grasp the skin and pound?
I leak, then bow and falter, over what
is not enacted but leaves me stripped, unbound
and willing. Tell me, why do you leave me fraught
with tongue and stern bow splintered? Fall to water
and strain your ears to listen: the whale noises—
they cry and sing the lilting song of daughters
who soon enough you’ll mimic. They are voiceless—
your words—but cast your bait and reel in tight.
My gills will brave the air, your feast tonight.