It could be her
It could be…another
It could be no one in particular
Or a thing imagined
Or a thing ghosted
from past interplay
Isn’t that the way she thinks?
The way she writes?
That girl kicking out…smooth
in
the floating backstroke
gazing
at the sepia-Gray sky
creating
her own calm
her own
buoyancy
her own
groove
of being still
letting the current take her...places
