The white transducer scanned her belly
like an oceanographer scanning for baleen whales,
or baleen whales scanning for each other
miles apart, but pressed ear to ear
in the oil-thick mêlée, forming pictures
like cross-stitches from the clicking
of knitting needles, from the low rumblings
of whales churning their jaws in the darkness.
When she slid out like a muskrat,
half outraged, half subdued, flipper-less,
and we held her up to the light,
wiped the spray from her ears, she flinched,
her sound fleshing out in our hands,
in the snagged nets of our fingers.