Sky to the left and flung back far to the right: dawn. River ran. Construct that was River ran. All parts flowing: left to right, blood into blood and back through, arm to leg to arm, breast, massy hair, mouth. feet on rock. wind. She went up and down. She went. She hurled herself, and feet caught her, space, wind, until she cried, was crying, hurling forward and being caught.

things in her to surface. The trouble, infinite, with the construct "River" being that in the scope of a ripple-on-ripple model of perception there was far too much River for her "self," her "ego" to encompass (feet against stone, knees up and back, skip stone and hurl front stone on stone)--for twenty people, "River" would have twenty left arms, twenty massy hair, and be all twenty, the state of her reality being what it is

up now into up into air. River danced, and tears flowed down her cheeks and into her hair. Her sobs flowed into the hills breaking like a family of deer around the rocks and promontories curling down the bare ground and up the sides of the valleys like mist. captain captain captain

The Bacchae were followers of Dionysus. Their orgiastic religious practices led them into ecstasies of rage and sex, tearing whole men apart with bare hands

River is dancing. She throws herself out like a net like a fishing net each direction thrum throb thrum throb out into the promontories, thrown out each way like her hands, splayed naked and ragged as a peony petal. sobs split or are they words captain captain. the sky pink now and fresh as lemons, translucent as spilt lemon juice, the milk-white of the split seed river's thighs. the rocks cut feet.

arms down and up and legs up and down. there is a rhythm in it of the heart and lungs but erratic, imperfect, a steadier one. needed. thrum of the sun, rising, arcing, splitting the sky

captain captain

river dances. Sky splits behind rocks and promontories feet arcing on stone head and sob and arm, right arm, right arm and breast, arching into the rock. hair agains