The River Wife'One day love lay down by the river. He slept in a blue patterned shirt and through the afternoon he did not stir but dreamed with the river's song beside him. When he woke he saw me. Love was not the pattern of leaves and the texture of bark, it was not the underbelly of river or the way of fish, though all that was here was part of it. Love was the passing of the sky across a face, it was the arc of conversation, the thought of forever, the yearning