The Stories We Do Not Tell
rejoice that our lips
did not permit more stragglers,
more detail, more vulnerability
toward those to whom it does not belong.
River Song
for the first time,
i don’t want to go anywhere.
i want to stand Here and let
the rushing water flow on its own,
past my toes, over my chilled skin;
let it pull my hair forward over my face,
blind me and pass me by
instead of carrying me along.
Shaman Song
I dream each night of dark water. Pulsing, swirling, ever approaching, but it does not drown my toes. The threat, but never the reality. Waiting.
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