She goes into the river, swimming, where no one sees the flow of tears in the rush of mountain water. She swims with the salmon, returning, and returning yet again.
She seeks pools and eddies and wild current to sweep her away.
And through it all, her tears soak into the river, flowing, slowing, returning.
I go into the trees, tears soaking into forest floor, seeping between roots and returning, rising up through moss and roots and heartwood.
Rising through leaves to air, to clouds, to rain.
Rain to fall like tears into the river.
She goes into the river, swimming, when sun seeps into the depths, when snow falls, when turning leaves twist in currents. And in the water, in all our tears, she sheds her skin, sheds her grief, and for a moment, is borne away.