She flowed right through me,

as a stone

hits the surface of a lake

and is engulfed, accepted,

swallowed whole.

While the surface rippled,

and few actually saw

the penetration itself,

there was chaos below, sinking

with little resistance;

she moved at her own pace.

The stone pierced the murky

dephts unseen,

slowly descending,

a dark angel against

stillness, waters that

always exist, but never move.

No one on shore could remember

once the ripples vanished,

or could fathom

that anything was still sinking

until she rested at the

very bottom, while other rocks

and muddy sand

and the cold stillness

and everybody else

went home.

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