Island Park, Idaho:
Truck nosing to water’s edge, ducks in scatter like broken love or birdshot. Erin was poise. I was capture. Fumbling, leaping over my own self to grasp at whatever I was seeing. She stands hugging herself, tick of the engine a sort of metronome; each second light draining from the sky, forever washed away. The river takes. Water the third dimension. The horizon a jagged gash of black trees, night coming with the cool ache of season-less late fall. We stand like people stand looking out. Bearing witness.
