Night and the River
By Mary Oliver
I have seen the great feet
leaping
milky
and I have seen the body
of something
scaled and wonderful
slumped in the sudden fire of its mouth,
and I could not tell
which fit me
more comfortably, the power,
or the powerlessness;
neither would have me
entirely; I was divided,
consumed,
by sympathy,
pity, admiration.
After a while
it was done,
the fish had vanished, the bear
lumped away
to the green shore
and into the trees. And then there was only
this story.
It followed me home
and entered my house —
a difficult guest
with a single tune
which it hums all day and through the night—
slowly or briskly,
it doesn’t matter,
it sounds like a river leaping and falling;
it sounds like a body
