I've been reading Kathleen Jamie's 2004 book of poems, "The Tree House" (Picador, London).  Here's the first stanza of "The Glass-hulled Boat":  First come the jelly-fish: / mauve-fringed, luminous bowls / like lost internal organs, / pulsing and slow./

Jamie writes a lot about the natural world in the Scottish north (she has also written, in earlier books, about the north of Pakistan).  Beautiful, quiet, understated poems.