A wounded otter

on a bare rock

a bolt in her side,

stroking her whiskers

stroking her webbed feet.

Her ancestors

told her once

that there was a river,

a crystal river,

a waterless bed.

They also said

there were trout there

fat as tree-trunks

and kingfishers

bright as blue spears -

men there without cinders

in their boots,

men without dogs

on leashes.

She did not notice

the world die

nor the sun expire.

She was already

swimming at ease

in the magic crystal river.