Watauga Branch

Watauga Branch

That ain’t its real name

Not your’n neither

But you cut deep and run fast too

I saw the rapids and eddies in your gray eyes

And a thousand little falls

With my eyes wide open

I flung myself into that crystal-clear icy embrace

I saw a distorted sun

Deforming from beneath your currents

Then came up for air

As I crashed into rocks and scraped over rapids

But this branch is just a river

And you are just a girl

Still, I might split my skull on a rock

or wash ashore, drowned in a whirlpool

All things die

And Watauga Branch will dig its’ own grave or maybe, boil away

You will too

You are just a girl

Poetry