Water-monks these...

Carp

On the river bottom,
the carp have blown out
all the candles.

They whisper along
over the closed, black
bibles of clams.

Water-monks these,
with mouths like those
of angels singing,

but not angelic,
so very naked now
in darkness,

their cool, hard bodies
touching, among
the tapestries of weed.

[From "Flying at Night: Poems 1965-1985", by Ted Kooser, Poet Laureate of the United States, 2004-2006]