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Awakened by Sea Lions They crowd their rookery, the dilapidated outcrop The ocean gives a bubble-top of glass to at high tide. Among them two or three of the four-ton elephant seals Loll pathetically, like queen bees without hives. The lions call out. Insomniac, late, the fog a loose curtain Of moonshot aquatic light, restless and static, They speak. But not to us. Nor to the ocean. I have heard One daughter wake on her top bunk sobbing And her younger sister below ask her what's wrong. Deep in the night, all of us waking to her cry. "What's wrong?" And then, "I can't sleep." Just the two of them. Silence again. Slumber. The call comes Out of the vast peaceful mere rimmed by new worlds. And those who hear it are soothed, even though It might rise from throats that gulp pale fish Torn out of the wave, from inelegant chimeras With limbs like dolphins', Dog-eared, whiskered like cats, mouths set With human teeth. The call travels its distance. Once heard, it travels further. 9 ...

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