The rivers bear the mark of human hand,
such as the ferry, now a sign of when
the Saints laid claim upon their promised land.

The Church had banished John Lee to the sand

I, for one, am glad the river dolphin
is endangered. Except for lousy eyesight,
they seem to think they're so much better
than us -- as if their streamlined bodies, graceful

1.
My mind is karst
and your underground currents
have dissolved it.

2.
If I ever get stuck in a cave,
at least I won't freeze to death.
Karst holds my heat.

3.
What water removes

The goats have taken to the roof
because the ground has more ice
each day. They curl together
on corrugated tin for warmth.

The afternoon is warm enough

The angle of incidence -- that is,
light before it glints off water --
is equal to the angle of reflection;
at least, in water calm enough
so that the surface does not wrinkle.

Dobiwallah, I give you my socks;
these ragged trousers and shirts;
and the shalwar kameez I bought
in the town upstream of here
between one bus and the next.

Beat them clean for me. Hurl them

Green, have mercy on us.
Grand, have mercy on us.
Virgin, have mercy on us.
Dirty Devil, have mercy on us.

O Colorado plateau, full of grace
have mercy on us.

The cousin who crossed three
years ago swam
like an eel to the spawn grounds.

He bundled his dry jeans around
photographs, a watch
and a good enough shirt;

of Walt and Miriam:
camped three days in a draw
on Tonto Platform --
her, unconscious from a fall;
when the flash flood came
and knocked them clear
out from the wall so that they flew,

The kind of nasty, lowdown
dirty-mouthed pencil-neck
snake you don't want
swimming from the far side

of the creek in a blind rage,
because you had the gall
to think this was a place

It hasn't been the same since Hoover Dam
was built: the river never floods out the streets
downtown. There are no recent photos
of tidy cars parked in new-made shallows,

Above the holy Ganga, workers mark
the shoulder of the road with barrier tape
so that the cars, careening carelessly
around this bend, will not reach sudden
airborne sacrifice. The barefoot men

straddles the river and welcomes
all to his chest: crawdads, moss, migratory birds
(hummingbird and pollo alike),
roadside wanderers looking
for lost stamp-mills and cities,

On a moonless night, when the current
is the color of grimy oil-based printer's ink
(dark, thick, smudging into clear air)
you have to picture the map in your head:

I love
the way your toes
knead the night air, brushing
against the sheets, tempting the cat
to pounce.