but rivers(like children laugh and run
the whole earth over)they are a smarting
riots of purest fornicating waters
they with the land do
they push into the
dark rich earth
their awl
and
they sigh
at the nape of
my yard i hear
them back there
and they have so little
perfect whispers and secrets
they tell them to me and i get into
the smallest parts of them and they
make me more than the imperfect changing
spit and blood
                          those rivers
                                                are
                                                      beautiful