turbulent eddies,

 preened with copious oil, heavily waterproofed
 so wild silver flows easily past my streamlined body,
 strong legs and feet
 pinion rocks under and above.

 All black, but for a white bib:
 a dinner suit with white
 serviette draped from the collar,
 ready to dine the fresh meat river.

 Do not give me stillness:
 stagnant, silent, dead.
 I need bright, loud, lively lilt

 so muscle winged, flaps over
 my nostrils close, eyelids feather
 as I submerge. This strong short bill
 tumbles pebbles, sorts morsels

 beneath them, wings fly against torrent,
 anchor me at the bottom,
 fastened with my feet, fight my own buoyancy.
 No need to fly up and plunge in,

 I use momentum to immerse.
 walk into maelstrom,
 until under, barely make a wake.

 At times I splash in while flying,
 or jump in from a rock, too,
 and float on my belly,
 with wings spread like oars.

 I revel.

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