每当我睡不着的夜晚，我总是听见
灯塔那边的岩石上海狮的嗥叫声。
我透过黑漆漆的窗子向外看黑色的夜
想到搅动海洋的鱼。强壮的金枪鱼
它们剧烈搅动海水的猛冲和强烈扭动，
激起狂风巨浪，
饥饿的风暴。漫游的鲱鱼，
海洋中银色的小河，宽如一座照亮的小城。
所有细小的呼吸：带皱边的海蜇，
鱿鱼的猛推，南极磷虾的狂暴，
透明的皮肤发着绿光，有着硅藻
般的玻璃壳。
每夜无数蜂拥的水柱，
在黎明时向下滑行。他们是推动这个世界
的加了润滑油的发动机。
向北极运输热量，向热带地区拖动寒冷，
向全球放开洋流的揽索。
我的房间很安静，死气沉沉的办公室，
里面，无行动力的人类的私人用品：
钥匙，硬币，曾经在潮水中摇晃的贝壳--
色彩变幻的鲍贝，珍珠耳环。只有
钟表海绿色的数字记录着微小的变化。
月光投下的阴影--枫树枝子组成的扇形--
满屋都是滴答声。但较远的悬崖边
一条蓝鲸发出声音，浮出水面，
挖取冰冷的深渊的宇宙的长柄勺。
干线是那么宽，
我可以游过去进入其千磅的心脏。
Nights when I can’t sleep, I listen to the sea lions
barking from the rocks off the lighthouse.
I look out the black window into the black night
and think about fish stirring the oceans.
Muscular tuna, their lunge and thrash
churning the water, whipping up a squall,
storm of hunger. Herring cruising,
river of silver in the sea, wide as a lit city.
And all the small breaths: pulse
of frilled jellyfish, thrust of squid,
frenzy of krill, transparent skin glowing
green with the glass shells of diatoms.
Billions swarming up the water column each night,
gliding down at dawn. They’re the greased motor
that powers the world. Shipping heat
to the arctic, hauling cold to the tropics,
currents unspooling around the globe.
My room is so still, the bureau lifeless,
and on it, inert, the paraphernalia of humans:
keys, coins, shells that once rocked in the tides—
opalescent abalone, pearl earrings.
Only the clock’s sea-green numerals
register small changes. And shadows
the moon casts—fan of maple branches—
tick across the room. But beyond the cliffs
a blue whale sounds and surfaces, cosmic
ladle scooping the icy depths. An artery so wide,
I could swim through into its thousand-pound heart.
