she’s wired for something else
pulling an oar out of frothing water
to feel closer
she runs her fingertips over
a second home
skimming the cold
she wants to be part of the trees
buried into the side of a cliff
so when the earth breathes
she can feel it sigh against her chest
holding her closer than anyone has before
she’s a white river at her core
an old school bus chugging up a hill
where the wind combs her hair
and she feels closer
to the water beading off her arms
when she dangles a foot out the open bus door.
One thought on "rolling water"
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This description makes me feel like I’ve met her, my guide on the Gauley. That foot dangling out of the bus door, and I couldn’t even look over the edge of the hillside! You capture her spirit, as if that’s possible, perfectly.