What the River Promised
by Steve Klepetar

Islands of ice riven by collisions
and heat. A sliver of silvery rope

between willow and pine. Music
of rocks and trees and rotting logs.

At night, a glint of moon wavering
between shores. When rain slants

down to scar dark waters, scents
of reed and mud mingle on the wind.

River whispers and wraps herself
around the body of dreams.

You toss in your bed to wildly
shifting flesh. An old friend returns

from the dead, high school young,
unmarked by sagging eyes and scars.

Together you pick your way through
mist. Long before cars growl across

bridges, ripples or sunbeams or
shadows of cloud dance on the river’s skin.

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