Inside the house running water from the faucet. I keep thinking this is a drama, the clothes float up around our arms in the milky green pond. Cars go by on the highway. Grey rocks of the riverbed exposed to the sun going on months. Knocking sound on the other shore.
Terminals are demands.
Men shouting, a woman walks across the open floor before announcing herself. Rolling around on the marble. Humming a hymn. The piece of paper with the written destination on it following me around. The rivers running so low in the other part of the country, the long drive seeming each time worth it.