Standing in the river,
Ears tuned to the sound of silence,
She waits
For someone to deliver her broken ribs
From breathing the lies of an urban world
Her hair is a wheat-field,
Caressed by autumn’s whispering
She stares,
Knowing that the heron has found the freedom
To leave all that it has known for new winds
Tattered clothes, no makeup,
Looking down as she is washed clean
She hopes.
The great blue pushing her legs, inviting her
Into cold embrace and faithful friendship
Eyes closed, her heart beats still.
Felled like a beautiful willow,
She yields.
Eyes open to see the swift, sweet water
Engulf her wholly, heavy and holy
She breathes.
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