I see this, 
and this isn’t a treasure like a lost wallet 
or piece of self someone discarded, but I slide 
to crouch and meet it 
down muddy clay banks 
in my best boots. 

No longer part of the river, 
it rests on reeds like it’s refusing—
I see its point—
refusing to melt because sun 
can dazzle as well as 
destroy. 

Bio: Kelli Fitzpatrick