I know the River’s charade
The semblance of her serenity
And the truth underneath
The façade that she portrays, lusterless and lifeless

I have felt her frigid fingers gently grab me
And bring me into her austere, glacial embrace
I know how often she flings you into the swift current with
Indifference and nonchalance

But I know how she is when the sun is prolonged in the sky
When the wind blows balmy and the air is thick
Her waters are tropical and inviting
And she suffers the Eagle to swoop under her surface for fish

I know the River’s secrets
The estuary that leads to a bluff of jagged cliffs
Her prized possession
The place where her water is shallow and she lays exposed

I know what the River is truly like
She smells clean, like linens out to dry,
And she feels smooth between my fingers
It is not adequate to call her teal; she has invented her own color
A mix of deep azure, soft beryl, and infinite cerulean

I know the River’s heart
It is beautiful and preserved
Her banks are littered with not but trees
Life lives within her and around her

I have heard the River sing
The cry of an overheard osprey
Her fingers stroking the rocky shore
Even the silent flight of the elegant heron,
Whose white impression against the dark blanket of night is breath-taking

I know what she looks like
Hardly elfin, but broad faced and gently hunched over
Her eyes are creased and wrinkled with crow’s feet
Her hair is ebony, the shade of midnight’s most somber hour
Her skin is soft like leather that has been weathered over time
Her lips are plush and slightly open, in pursuit of emotion

I know the River