Four Things

First, I saw the video, and it reminded me of the painting, which reminded me of the photograph and a poem I had written some time ago. But I'll give you the poem first, then the photograph, then the painting, then finally the video. This is the way my mind works, most of the time: the world becomes a continual series of links.

The River's Daughter

She walks into the river

with rocks in her pockets,

and the water closes around her

like the arms of a father

saying hello, my lovely one,

hello.  How good to see you,

who have been away so long.

The eddying water

tugs at the hem of her dress,

and the small fish gather

to nibble at her ankles, at her knees,

to nibble at her fingers. They will find

it all edible, soon, except

the carnelian ring by which her sister

will identify her.

Bits of paper

float away, the ink now indecipherable.

Was it a note? Notes for another

novel she might have written, something new

to confound the critics?  They will cling

to the reeds, will be used

to line ducks' nests, with the down

from their breasts. The water

rises to her shoulders, lifts her hair.

Come, says the river.  I have been waiting

for you so long, my daughter.

Dress yourself in my weeds,

let your hair float in my pools,

take on my attributes: fluidity,

the eternal, elemental flow

for which you always longed.

They are found not in words but water.

You will never find them while you breathe,

not in the world of air.

And she opens her mouth

one final time, saying father,

I am here.