MidFlorida. As Of Yet.

all the otters played about the Fountain of Youth and
some
times would take their
fleshy clam shells in simian claws
and run them into
the mossy stone that sprung from an absolute nowhere
the otters
would curl about the safety in evening
because the swamp hawks found some
thing
ill tasting about the waters and the bigger reptiles
saw frightened refractions of themselves
about the monolithic statuary of dirty
whiteness in the midst of warmish green and stagnant
dark

while
the otters yawped chased larger mosquitoes from the
pools and
dove underwater where the fountain
rest not
on a thing
only
in and
above
and
below

once some men came near but they turned away. the otters called out especially the young ones. they did not know to be afraid and some
thing
let them on that the men
were supposed to find the odd fountain they had lived
about
for unmemorable
monuments of time

the egrets would
grow whiter round the upwards haze made of whiter
sun and whiter
stone

noontime

when the otters
would sleep open-
eyed in the mossy green stone silhouette