The River

Refreshing, not icy,
plunging into the water,
not shocking.

I am floating on my back.
Above, a turkey vulture flies
from one shore to the other.

Puffs of cottonwood,
a light snow, bob on the
wake of a ski boat long past.

Buoyant, my arms outstretched,
eyes closed, I see him floating
into my welcoming arms.

Two partially submerged logs form a V above the water.
Two red eared turtles lounge in the afternoon sun.
The dog approaches and the turtles dive into the water.

I jump off the side of the boat
seeking him in the clear water
and come up to find a sunflower floating down the river.

The yellow petals take me back to the porch
where moments after sex we sat together
quietly looking at a bouquet of hydrangea and sunflowers.

The flow of the water,
the change in temperature
from cool to cooler surrounds and passes.

The contrasting temperatures
of the water and the air
bring touch

and images of his mouth on mine,
his hand brushing the inside of my thigh,
his shoulder resting on my chest, in memories

Floating up and through
the water as currents that envelope
and embrace memories of other afternoons.

As memories are liquid,
and touch seemingly solid,
and taste evaporative,

I am floating with time.
I am floating with the hot sun above
and cool water below.

I am floating in time
from when we touched
to when again we will

touch.