the river, flowing endlessly
into the distance with
curves and mystery as it
passes beyond our line of sight:
there are the cool, calm
patches where friends and
family sit and laugh,
yet there are the rough
currents, too, that old
folklore says is where
a young boy died
way back.

but we’re on dry land
for now, sitting under
the gazebo, sipping iced
tea and watching the trees,
high above, blow in the distance,
and we laugh because
at least for now,
we couldn’t even think
of swimming.