From the First Water is the Body: By Natalie Diaz

The river is my sister—I am its daughter.
It is my hands when I drink from it,
my own eye when I am weeping,
and my desire when I ache like a yucca bell
in the night. The river says, Open your mouth to me,

and I will make you more.

Because even a river can be lonely,

even a river can die of thirst.

I am both—the river and its vessel.
It maps me alluvium.

A net of moon-colored fish.

I've flashed through it like copper wire.

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