The river winds
her sleek, sinuous,
full body
around the
whispering blade.
Pulls herself from far-flung
tributaries.
Coils into deep forest eddies.
Concentrates.
The river animal
slithers against an obvious current.
She and the whispering blade,
the animal and her measure,
the way and the finder and the dance
and the dance
and the dance of the river.
They slip the surface of the bed he forges,
sink into a curious arrangement
— moving shapes
sounding colors —
a leaf floating to earth
slower than gravity would allow,
unabashed waterfalls delineating
a path to nowhere in particular and yet
the point is here.
She softens,
licks the blade.
The whisper’s vision roars.
Touches her wanting.
She listens.
She is whirling and he
is a focused feeling.
To enter the deep
she must
slide
beneath
herself.
Plunge into the river
below the river
where his pointed end
meets her darkness.
Where there is only this
convergence of force and liquid.
Where there is only this
full bodied
enveloping
openness.
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