silly hair band

I sit at the river bank.

I feel no smile, it’s all truly frank.

For far too long I have been a pseudopositive tank.

I feel the water,

run down my hand.

Like when I first held my daughter,

like when she tied to me a silly hair band.

I return home.

Work the next morning.

I feel alone,

I attend the evening-ly mourning.

I go back to the river,

the water is shiny as silver.

It is not the same as yesterday.

My next of kin

she is one with the sea

as is the water of yesterday.