The River's Edge

The face in the water watches
my pensive steps sinking into the
soil that lines the river's edge.
I pinned her down, the rocks
that drape across her gently
clicking against the bottom as the
current bubbles and shifts
around the obstructions,
as the mud from their under-
bellies create long streaks of brown
in the sunlit waters.
The only bubbles that form are
those of the water itself.
Her body stopped producing
them over ten minutes ago.
But still she watches me,
her reddened eyes following me
as I make my way up and down
the rivers edge,
her head and hair lightly
jostled by the current.
“Do you blame me?” I ask.
Her head shakes back and forth,
partially relieving me.
She mouths some words to me,
and even through the water I
can tell what is being said.
She smiles, one of her loosened
teeth dislodging and heading down
stream.
I lean down onto my hands,
the mud sinking into my knees.
With short movements she moves the
rocks away, like flecks of cotton.
Then she reaches up her arms and wraps
them around my head.
"The water is fine,
the water is cool,"
and as I slip beneath the surface
I find her still looking at me,
even as my body begins to shudder
and she draws me tenderly against her
icy body.