He finds sanctuary
teetering on the bow
of an upended boat
wedged into a waterfall
frozen mid-flow. She finds notes
he left on that red metal
stool she loves. Memories
of a site that celebrates water
scrawled in pencil:
storm dirty gray filtered
fizzy still fresh salt brackish
murky clear ground brown black
She pauses at blue. The prospect
of the river
and its expansive bed
hurts her eyes—
how everything can vanish
in one weather-laden moment.
Another morning comes to,
his whereabouts sublime.
Amy, this is wonderful. Still reflecting on it, but it will stay with me I think-
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