The river keeps her companyas she walks the old street.
handing tearsto the air, already damp
and smelling of pungent flowers.
Mist falls behindlike a bridal veil, sheer
with threads fraying into faint light;
and somewhere on the outskirtsof evening and the city
a young man’s shadow
patches the cracked cement
of a prison wall.
In her dreamshe always faces the corner,
rushing over fallen branches
and unlevel ground
In her dreams,she marries the current,
jumping into something better or worse
and leaves sorrow standing
on the dike. Her place marked
by two cobblestones
matching the size
of a woman’s tiny foot.