By the River

This river recurs
in the night
when we can’t sleep.

You take my hand
under fireworks
green and orange.

Grown weary
of higher ground,
our feet are underwater.

Close your eyes,
and I will tell
the ways you make me weep.

Close your eyes,
and I will give you
words that pretend to be keys.

Close your eyes
and I won’t say
what isn’t true.

Close your eyes.
This is just a dream.

And if you look at me,
moonlight might shiver
on the water.

And if you look at me,
a crooked smile
might break these chains.

And if you look at me,
you’re bound to see
my muddy feet.

Look at me.
This is not a dream.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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