You could never catch her, she was that fast.
She wore such long dresses in the country
animals hid under the overhang.
I did not know her well, let alone love
her legs ascending where someone might love
her. And her long neck, Modigliani’s
woman, the left bank come back to the farm.
She shed her clothes, walked into the water.
I didn’t even try to follow . . .
She waded so far when she was naked
she controlled the current like a woman
insists she give a man all she has
until either she is gone or he is.
Her eyes glittered, pearls caught in the sun
to warm her on the other river bank
where I wanted her but had no courage
that day, the last day, the furious day
you never recall you don’t rue the light
she let surround her, drinking it in slow
as dust mixes with ashes in the rain.
(23 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander