OVER THE RIVER

                       The water flowed by with purpose.
A living power was enticing the senses.
      “Come, flow with me; become part of me,
consume all that I have to offer.”   

Day after day her hypnotic spell
prevailed, until disturbed  
by someone moving along the bank,
on the far side of the river.

And then he was gone.
Swallowed by fog
that chilled cheeks,
feet and hands.

Later, when the sun warmed
and chased away cold,
he emerged from the mist and
waved a hand in salute.

We became friends that summer.
No words passed between us
over the river. Gestures
replaced our voices.

He usually came by himself.
Sometimes a dog tagged along.
Once he was hand in hand
with a child.

Summer was almost over.
He had not appeared for two
weeks.  I missed my friend with no
name on the other side of the river.

One warm fall day, as foliage
        drifted to the ground; from
a shadow in the woods, he
trekked to the river bank and waved.

Relieved, bubbles of joy
percolated from my toes to my chin.
I was excited to see him again,
on the opposite side of the river.

Performing an unexpected maneuver,
he strolled to a stump, sat, and removed
        shoes, socks, and shirt.  With purpose
he invaded the river.

Employing long strong strokes he swam
straight towards me. Each rotation
of his arms brought him closer,
my friend from over the river.

I could see a smile on his face,
the red of his hair when the river
reached up and grabbed him
and dragged him into her lair.
 
He was gone, disappeared.  
I lost him,  my friend, with
no name, who came over and
        and went with the river.

Through my grief, someone spoke.
. When I turned,
he extended his hand and
said with a grin:  

“Hi, my name is Brian.”