He loves the river.

It's always the same.

The place where the trail ends

Into the clearing

And down to the sand is

A place to stand and take his shoes off,

And stare at the river,

And across the way,

And wade in.

But I am the river,

And the part of me he touches

With his feet

Will not even be the same

When he gets in up to his knees.

And by the time he's in up to his thighs,

If he doesn't realize how much I've moved,

And that another new part of me

Is touching him now,

He could drown in his own ennui,

Before the rest of me makes it downstream.

But he loves the river,

And the river loves him.

-jenn