at sunrise

at sunrise

the sun will come
leaking heat
over the cold river
where this winter
a woman fell into it
and for days
abandoned by soul
and lone last breath
she drifted and bumped
in the silt and stumps
past old cars
and bikes
past sleeping ice
on and on to the abandoned
mill dam where a man
with a rusty shovel
found her,
hair stitched to last autum's
leaves, against the grates.
and water, kind now,
pushes past her, not
a smudge or question,
not one accusation