Crossing A Calm River

Crossing A Calm River

He took my heart as I gave it to him those sum of years ago that seem to be fading in the back of our

minds. I see him from the edge of this bank, but I cannot say the same for him. What does he think about?

I could cross this old river, this warm body that invites me in, beckoning periodically with its

hand stretched out, palms to the sky above and fingers twirling. But will I be the one to break

the still surface of the water? If it were I to take the daring plunge, I fear that the consequential ripples to be

sent through our firmament would be too great, too high to hurdle and perhaps too powerful to face head-on and break

through. I can put my foot in the water, but even then it sends waves that shake and almost tip toads off of their delicate lily pads.

Perhaps it is best that I remain high and dry, and perhaps by staying out of this calm and

stagnant water, I could perhaps avoid the parasitic insects that plague its surface, working

in tandem with the venomous hand of the river that both entices and seeks to drown me.