I like the idea of a river yawning: its mouth a vast open width, just a symptom of fatigue. I think of how it wraps its length around itself, serpentine and sure; how its waves rock back and forth, a cradle on an unsteady floor. on days like today, when the spring fog has melted into my bones, or when time seems to stop or slow, I think of my spine as that river and curl into myself like the letter “c.” breath floating downstream, body swaying like the currents of the sea.
