Kindred, and Treading Water

In the end,
When the river’s meet the rocks that
predict the smashing of skin,
and the blood that weaves into the water,
like, a legend that has spilled his last breath,
I will be there.

Tangled, and mangled and sticky with the sweat
of fighting to swim, and to breathe. I will be there.

Her scars and her reminders will be tested by the current,
but she can swim. And she can hold her breath for a long, long time.

Long enough to play dead, and relax, and let the moon carry her.

In the end,
When the river’s meet the rocks that
predict the smashing of skin,
and the blood that weaves into the water,
like, a legend that has spilled his last breath,
I will be there.

To gather her in when she reaches me, before she reaches
the rocks. Before any blood is spilled. Before she has a chance to give up.

She is worth effort of standing, and waiting,
for her limp body to make its way towards me.
I will hear her heart beating, even through the wild rush of
water.

And then, the world will stand still. Long enough for me to get her to shore.

Long enough, for her to want to breathe.