eclipse by whale on a june night/day

there is a version of me
still rooting through the clovers 
in the backyard. she's on her knees.
she lays each little plant out on her palm
to count the leaves. the sun is giving up
& crawling into its den for winter.
if you see a bear you should tell it
you have more than six ghosts & it will know
to move on. for the last week
i've eaten only from the Titanic's menus.
you can find them online. i ring a bell
for service to come.
a waitor arrives from my hallway
& brings me waldorf pudding which is 
a thick custard. the spoon is made
of whale bone. a whale passes by the window.
a whale soars through the sky 
to eclipse the clouds. a whole study
of clovers is waiting for me--
i notice how the leaves at the top
always want to pull apart but almost never do.
i should feed her-- my searching girl.
she works until her hands 
are boney & as thin as spiders.
i order boiled rice & it rains from above.
all the little grains like pale ants 
marching across the floor. a whale 
is always getting larger.
a four leaf clover could be waiting 
inside the cover of a wandering bible.
the ship, all great & glacial,
is passing by & blows its horn.
i tell the waitor i'm going to need 
some time to figure out what else i need.
he turns into a bullfrog. 
will the whale eat the bullfrog
or the bullfrog eat the wall.
a jaw is a malleable organ.
she eats a clover & it is bitter.
the green spread all over her body.
the shape of the clover leaves 
contagious across the house.
soon, my hands are clovers 
& my heart & my soul & my bones.
the ship is sinking again. slowly at first
the way everything ends. a disbelief.
the whale breaching & smashing the moon
into fine little pieces.
i carry the girl & store her
in a jar. i tell her she has to take a break 
or she'll die from all this chasing.
i ring a bell & the house 
turns into a blade of grass. i ring a bell
& the waitor is a flock of ibis &
i am the spoon made of bone.