[22 August 2019]
I stand,
at the place where the river splits in two, wondering how long it has been since I have called this place my own. I hear you stirring in the waters. Your name runs warm across the back of my hand. The side splits.
Splits down the middle. Splits at the root of the rod. Splits between the rock and the riverbed. Splits between the grain field and the vineyard. The river flows, water and blood.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, I heard you calling out my name, too.
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