White Night. A poem by Mary Oliver.

All night

    I float

       in the shallow ponds

           while the moon wanders

burning,

     bone white,

         among the milky stems.

             Once

I saw her hand reach 

    to touch the muskrat’s

        small sleek head

            and it was lovely, oh,

I don’t want to argue anymore

    about all the things

        I thought I could not

           live without!  Soon

the muskrat

   will glide with another

      into their castle

          of weeds, morning

will rise from the east

    tangled and brazen,

         and before that 

             difficult 

and beautiful

    hurricane of light

        I want to flow out

            across the mother

of all waters,

    I want to lose myself

        on the black 

            and silky currents,

yawning,

gathering

     the tall lilies 

         of sleep. 

Ellen being a musk rat in a mountain tarn, Snowdonia National Park, Wales.