for my daughterBetween tides.  The lagoon indrawn,waiting to exhale.Baja.  San Ignacio.  Namesthat leave the mouthhalf open:a sigh in the night, windand the Milky Way, the dawn fog.On such a morning as this,at the endof the old century, you were bornto the songs of gray whales.Across water the silver of old mirrors,we motor toward the mouth,where the lagoon opens to the Pacific,where our small boatfloats & we wait.Eschrichtius robustus.A hush, a wish, a secret whisperedfrom one girl to the ne...