to return to the river
is easier than you'd think
the green water rises up to drape your shoulders
and with little fanfare pull you under
you'd let go of breath so quickly.
it would become the breath of all things.
and in the bottom of the water
you'd tend the reedy garden of
pebbles, plants, fish, and trash
with your moon-white hands extended,
more graceful than on land.
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