He'd take the brook.
She'd take the boat.
Neither of them
Sailed.
But both owned
a fine pair of telescopes
and enough laughter
to keep them bubbling
along bobbing.
She'd been long
in the forest.
In the woods the sap
dark molasses
moved slowly.
She had plenty of incentive
but the
sap
seemed immune to the forest fires
not so far away it kept
a slow pace
a thickness
a tear in slow motion.
as if she didn't have to change
at all.
He, a wanderer.
How thick was he, anyways?
Would he narrow down
enough to be here
widen up there
substantiate himself
long enough to be anywhere
Value someone else
out there?
She still
hadn't taken
the test
to measure It.
she didn't really
want to know
what she already knew
that was
the way of destruction
the old one
had told her so.
and back when she didn't know
she believed
and when that belief
ebbed its way into truth
she couldn't recall but it was hard to
change the shape of the knowing
even if it was bleeding
her dry
Recognising the dryness
he took her out
on the waters.
she capsized
and then stood up
laughing.
he kept chasing her
and then falling in
she managed to only knock
one other team player
over
really quite victorious
for someone as
new as she but of course being fresh
she could change direction so (too) easily
the water flowed so quickly the wind
blew
and she blew
with the wind
the thrill! the boats
raced, tilting skimming slicing
their way home
wall and boat:
collision
no matter. she was
no longer
the viscosity of
sap
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