You have heard of river otters
on ice and open water
belly-sliding to the brink
and over.
I am proud of them.

I have seen the beaver
swim across the melting bay
with willow branches for weaving.

Waves of rhythm
are drifting across my skin.
The drumbeat knows my heartbeat.
I hear them tamp together
in three-quarter time.

We are all done waltzing,
for a while anyway.
Time to leave these crumpled sheets,
and get up to meet the day.

I could see the autumn colors
in the orange morning light.
They were just a hint till then
when the great, golden ball
lifted off the equator
and slowly took flight
in a sky no longer night.
Sunrise meeker than the day before
eased into the trees
and lit the leaves with yellow rosiness
gently delicate

There’s calling from the grasses.
There’s an urgency before the freeze-up,
gather your nuts and find shelter.
Spooks of slow, twirling vapors
encircle the shoreline.
This water hosts kingfisher
and muskellunge;
the crocodiles of the north.

When these edging trees are bare
come this November breeze,
we will remember rubbing shoulders
with mighty July?
But here now, by the water
everything is grey and brown and gold,
and I see why the wolves,
and hares, and sleepy bears
all look the same.

This love is like upheaval
when I’m immobile,
frozen, stuck to the ground.
I cannot budge or even make a peep.
I have no voice, no power.
I am bowled over
by magical forces, I can’t control.

You are like a rattlesnake
with venom of sweet feelings and highs
so magnificent, mine is the sky.
But at this late stage,