He senses danger and is gone,
the water bulging in his wake.
You needn’t ever count upon
this sight again, and so should take
the memory and then move on?
You’ll never know what rendezvous he’ll break
with liquid arabesques – nor how he’ll trawl
fresh eddys, find new shoals to dredge.
His underwater playgrounds call
within him like a lover’s pledge.
He’ll wear the river like a shawl
in slicked–back freedom, near the water’s edge.