Her bones washed ashore at neap tide.
Crabs would sidle through the hollow ribcage,
as he sat listening to the echoes of pod song.
Heaving them inland, he took them home
and submerged them in the bathtub.
Later, he carved his initials into her ribs, polished
each one and fashioned them into a table.
When melancholy stirred the seabed into broken promises,
he could imagine she still sang for him,
until moonlight flooded the room,
splashed over the whalebones and he wept
because he had never learned to swim.