Many times, the channels directing
The waves break the flow of the massive
Sea. The MRI shakes
The soul, the patient lies there, passive.
Every time you feel the massive
Generators, until your body
Trembles with its throbbing,
Until it loosens every knotty
Trigger point, the hundred foot
Waves swamp the oiler deck,
It enters the trough, the sea roars.
In one type of wave, the caps fleck
Higher than the bow, in another,
A running wave, the ship feels
Itself running in the sea,
With both, a deepness steals
Into the crew, with both, the sky
And sea are no longer the sky
And sea, there’s no more roar,
Silence, praise, which signify.
Yaacov David Shulman