Status Updates From The Gourd Dancer

Well, I tried to enter my favorite poem thus far, but it wouldn't fit. DRAT you GR gurus who limit the characters on these updates!!!

Noon in the intermountain plain:
There is scant telling of the marsh-
A log, hollow and weather-stained-
An insect at the mouth, and moss-
Yet waters rise against the roots,
Stand brimming to the stalks. What moves?
What moves on this archaic force
Was wild and welling at the source.

I thought this was a short story based on a Native American myth. Not. It's a book of poetry.
Bo-talee rode easily among his enemies, once, twice, three--four times. And all who saw him were amazed, because he was utterly without fear; so it seemed. But afterwards he said: Certainly I was afraid, I was afraid of the fear in the eyes of my enemies.