I watch the winding creek.
There’s a body
knows how to catch light.
Goes all gold
from tongue to inky tail.
One creek’s water spills
into that of another
easy as a cottonmouth
twists round its mate.
You ever seen them at it?
In spring,
lazy under oakshade.
They come so close
you can’t tell which
is opening.
There’s a love
that’s holy. All giving
and no take.