From The First Water is the Body

2345*.

The river is my sister—I am its daughter.

It is my hands when I drink from it,

my own eye when I am weeping,

and my desire when I ache like a yucca bell

in the night. The river says, Open your mouth to me,

and I will make you more.

Because even a river can be lonely,

            even a river can die of thirst.

I am both—the river and its vessel.

It maps me alluvium. A net of moon-colored fish.

I've flashed through it like copper wire.