Where Rivers Flow
The ocean's waves rage and crash at their feet
The weather is cool, the wind is soft, and there are stars
The night reveals nebulas and sleeping giants
He questions the effects of stars on souls
She chews her nails
Love is stingy, like the placement of rainclouds
Between them there is desert
"Like California, I am dry," He says to her, shrugging, empty.
"Unlike California you have hoses and oceans and rivers and rain," She says.
The blood moon is here and the waves rise leaving nothing in tide pools
"Salvation is so deep down, I know I'll drown."
"You can swim."
"The undertow is too strong."
"So you will merely stand by the shore?"
He shrugs, "I am destined a desert."
"But look at Mars where rivers flow!" She says.
"In little streams and tributaries, barely visible!" He says.
"But there they are, patient and waiting, slowly eroding stone!"
The two stare into the heavens.
He has felt without rivers for longer than he can remember.
"Sometimes things just end, without purpose, without reason."
"And sometimes there's water on Mars, just waiting."
Bryan Crumpley is a Chicago writer and human person. He is the cofounder and editor of Dali's Lovechild Literary Magazine. Bryan likes stars and sunshine. Bryan has been recently published in Crack the Spine and Johnny America. More of his work can be found at bryancrumpley.org.