He lives at the edge of a large sinkhole,
on property that once belonged to his grandfather,
where alligators and water moccasins roam freely.
He lives alone, able to do as he pleases, in deep
woods where just a handful of people know his name
and only one of them ever visits.
She comes, in designer jeans, to fish along the
moss-covered bank behind his cabin, looking too chic
to know what to do with a cane pole or a minnow.
She tells him she respects his need for solitude and secrets,
and her voice is as soft as a child’s whisper.
Appearing as unobtainable as the stars above him that
reflect off the surface of the water, he can’t help but wonder
why she keeps returning to his bend in the river.
But the sound of her laughter comforts him late at night
while the current echoes his lament, and he wonders
if she’s ever considered living on the Wakulla River.
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