this is the story about the river down here.
the river down here and the house, broken.
this is a story about the whispers near and
far, far into the branches and out of the *******
of songbirds, too small to understand.

your girl likes to watch her hair move
with the water, with the ripples she makes.
drag your hand to meet a reflection and
your hair will move like snakes and
she thinks you are a mermaid.

perhaps the whispers are meant for you.
they don't say anything but they say something
in nothings and empty fields. the water is still
but ever-dangerous and becoming and
ready to take you.