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He waits for her by the river

XXXI Days of Poetry  (MMXII) - Day X

He waits for her by the river

He waits for her by the river, down a stone's throw from 
the spreading oak tree that hangs over the water's edge. 
The branches of the tree would offer sweet shade from 
the implacable brutality of the sun and some measure of 
relief from the hissing hunger of the horseflies. 
But he doesn't wait for her under the tree. 

He waits for her by the river, subjecting himself to the 
beat-down glare and the stinging air. He waits for her 
by the river, at the spot she went in. At the spot she went 
in the river, and floated away from him. Floated down river, 
and the river only floats one way. But what else can he do? 

He waits for her by the river, at that very spot. And he waits. 
And he waits. And he waits. And the horseflies sting. And the 
sun shows no pity. And he does not move. He does not move 
from that spot. That spot where she went in. He waits for her 
by the river know the rest. 

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