Am I not as God made me but stranger?

Made stranger still by what I have seen

at this hour of earth untended, unministered—

light caught up in the river’s grooved tread

That sun more like a mass grope out of emptiness

       and the black river weeds before it, torn and trained,

       rocketed and stark and stuck-to

The tall shadow of the willow grows forth....

....The fish in my skin relinquishes

Will I know then what I have become?

The river darkens from its end of trees closing in

There is the sun and this deep depression

Exiting as viewed in this river

--from, Winter Journal: The Sky Is the Lost Orpheum; Emily Wilson