In waters colder than the Aegean,
a cloud of krill swells into an army.
Their antenna are slender spears;
translucent shells slot into armour,
glowing like faint temple fires.

The whale rises, an unbound titan,
and the krill are captive, caught
in a divine tide. They are gleaming
ships, sailing towards baleen plates
that seem taller than the walls of Troy.

No horses or heroes necessary,
and no turning back. The swarm
is swallowed without ceremony,
sieved through fingernail gates,
into the belly of the underworld.

Yet, one is clever. Spared by spontaneous
moulting, he drops like a star and leaves
a decoy self to the darkness. Ready for
an odyssey, he swims upwards: sunlight
glistens on the surface like Ithaca.