This is my river, she murmured, the blood flow

from the wine glass to my swollen lip. 


It runs deeper than rib or bone.

It's my repair and moving home.


Ravens came to drink her tears.

She knew that nothing could stem their thirst.


Do stay awhile, she whispered,

I'll dance a song for you.


We'll drink together the winter through

and keep good company.


The moon was a glimmer in the stem of her glass,

her look tender as an open wound.