This poem is taken from PN Review 209, Volume 39 Number 3, January - February 2013.
'The Otters' and 'Happy Hour, New York City'
The Otters
The otters hold hands
As they float on their backs
In the sea-green water, as nettles
Drift past in bushy ranks
On the banks of the gelatine
Stream, as if their fur
Weren't a wet mess. The otters
Close their eyes to it while gliding
By the silent reeds, the nests
Of river birds, the silvery
Trees, trailing patterns in
The water like long ribbons
In their wake. In the shade
The otters recoup and spin
Their feet, reverse into
...
The otters hold hands
As they float on their backs
In the sea-green water, as nettles
Drift past in bushy ranks
On the banks of the gelatine
Stream, as if their fur
Weren't a wet mess. The otters
Close their eyes to it while gliding
By the silent reeds, the nests
Of river birds, the silvery
Trees, trailing patterns in
The water like long ribbons
In their wake. In the shade
The otters recoup and spin
Their feet, reverse into
...
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