by Kolbe Riney

I am fifteen
when I fall
in love
with the river.
I am floating
and she holds
a woman,
hidden in reeds,
and I see
only her eyes
between the beams
of her hair,
lily pads,
and she the frog,
and I am sure
heels swirling
between the glitter
bodies of fish.
I laugh
with her,
and we lie
in the saffron sun
like gods
at the dawn
of the world,
our hair tangling
on the sand
as the tails
of sea snakes,
and as I turn
it is to Medusa
I say,
I would know
your face sightless,
by hand alone,
if I were to shape it
from the silt bed

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