A poem by the Finnish writer Tua Forsström (who writes in Swedish)

Fish

Fish go to bed when darkness falls,

they cover themselves with sand and lie motionless

at night. Children close their eyes and suck

their thumbs behind rose-patterned curtains. But

flying fish hover on sleepless beneath the moon

six metres above the waves, eleven thousand metres

above the sediment and slime bed of the

Marianas Trench.