The sun reaches down but the floor is not in sight. Only the rocks are white and green. It's queer to meet the loon falling in across the top of the yellow lake like a checkered hunchback dragging his feet. Only his head and neck can breathe. He goes under yodeling like the first mate who sways all night in his hammock, calling I have seen, I have seen.
Water is worse than woman.
It calls to a man to empty him. Under us twelve princesses dance all night, exhausting their lovers, then giving them up. I have known water. I have sung all night for the last cargo of boys. I have sung all night for the mouths that float back later, one by one, holding a lady's wornout shoe.