Some whales sleep vertically, the bullet of their body
pointed toward the light—toward the ocean’s surface
and the first breath of air they’ll take on waking.

I’ve only just begun, again, to sleep through the night,
my body curled into itself, to the pulse of my heart,
to the rise and fall of my lungs. I and the whales,

taken together, serve as silent exclamation that the world
can wait. That light will be there when we need it.
That darkness, like the sea, has a rhythm of its own.