I want him to join me and he can’t tell, but I am mad swollen licking at the edges of boundaries. I do not envy myself subject as I am to the season, the snow’s melt. Rains darken my depths and obscure my shallows. I can’t fathom them. They drop through me, find the ground that shifts under the running. Once I took a man just as I take grandfather. No. More than once. It’s true I am a terrific liar, a great dissembler. Things that fall to my surface don’t stay. They are buoyed about and transported to the sea or sink. They sink and I swallow them, little bits of what’s true. Voracious, that might be the truth you can’t know. A river is a liar for all the kindness you assign her. A river is hungry – a foul-mouthed, salivating wash of need.