The muse of Kilally Meadows (3)

I felt the heart of a lake say to me, only me, "Harvest the little things, gristly like shiners & spiders;

bring the moon down, round as a nickel, to the heron, the tall limping elk, or bass in the deep end;

sew the reed, as needed, in more kettle mud, stitching a long damselfly shore, & put the scraps in a vase:—

whoever's fit for life must be wormy & true, sitting here in water,alone alone, here only in mud”