Maybe she's still there when the tide rises foraging in the river dreaming in half moon they meet their fate floating into her net.
With the tide ebbing maybe she's still hugging the shore praying for a little more till the stars blink weary waiting for her to go home.
Is she still there her skin smeared with mud stalking like a night heron silhouetted against the skylight her feet kissing the riverbed her bed lonely and cold.
I wonder why for me she's so mysterious a predator in the river a foresaker of life for the life of her brewing a love deeper than I've ever known.