We dip our hands into the outdoor reef exhibit

and touch sea cucumber and red urchin

as butterflyfish swim by. A docent explains:

once a year, after the full moon, when tides swell

to a certain height, and saltwater reaches the perfect

temperature, only then will the ocean cue coral

polyps to spawn, in synchrony, a galaxy of gametes,

which dances to the surface, fertilizes, opens,

forms larvae, roots to seafloor, and grows, generation

upon generation. At home, we read a children’s

book, The Great Barrier Reef, to our daughter

snuggling between us in bed. We don’t mention

corals bleaching, reared in labs, or frozen.

And isn’t our silence, too, a kind of shelter?