Some other poems that have to do with water.
This one's called "Teal".
"Like all places, this one must have a rival beginning.
Here is the green winged teal, smallest
duck, leaper from flooded willows, more than a flier,
two shots missed and lucky hit by the third.
While you swear at the oars, the boat's direction,
small body picked from the current.
Winter sunlight coloring oily feathers.
The sadness of death.
Small death perhaps.
But no less needed than love.
Listen to the deer hunter.
Man and father who, three days sweaty, has
walked from light to darkness saying, I'm going to get a doe.
And he will.
In the musky twilight, he is in the doe's body,
warm, submissive.
Call it love.
Call it I don't like this.
Sorrow.
Call it some other place, away, violence.
In your hot bed, soft fur, stickiness, meat.
Here is reason, lies, truth, in this shifting line of ducks
above bear cottonwoods.
The river too far and not coming toward you.
Remember your wife before.
Her mother's girl, clothes floating across her behind,
breasts beating like wings as she ran.
Doe stiffens on the ground.
The quick teal fallen.
Woman lies down.
Death is all we can give.
Sorrow, the bright gift returned for us to carry off."