Friday, April 3, 2009

Their

Their

Her feet find the way
to the quiet bend of the river
to their rock.
The wind mixes with her hair
seeking a dance.
Entrusting the right hand
with the clasping of the envelope,
her left hand tucks the wayward hair in place.
Her legs set her down on the rock.
No dancing today.
The wind contents itself
with caressing her cheek.
Her hands find themselves
opening paper.
Her eyes offer the pebbles,
then the river ripples,
for contemplation.
But this kindness, too, is not accepted.
Her eyes
release saline moisture
to fall
to mix
with the ink.

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