In water nothing is mean. The fugitive
enters the river, she is washed free;
her thoughts unravel like weeds of
green silk, she moves downstream
as easily as any cold-water creature.
can swim between furred stones, brown
fronds, boots and tins the river holds equally.
The trees hiss overhead. She feels their shadows.
She imagines herself clean as a fish,
evasive, solitary, dumb. Her prayer:
to make peace with her own monstrous nature.