The Paris Review - Fall 2016

to the boat turned counterclockwise,
the purple loosestrife
flowering and the heron
taking flight.
Was my dream inside
the river, or the river
in my dream?
(The constant form
of motion, shape
of time.)
~~~
The river nymph, daughter
of Nereus, survived as
an underground stream,
far below the marshes
and the brackish pools.
She rises forever in
a clear-water fountain
ringed by papyrus
and circling swans.
There, at the limits of the shore,
where the waves—
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