Miller Loved Eliza

Miller loved Eliza and there was a river that ran near their homes. Miller with his parents, Eliza with hers. Miller was tall. Miller wore boots and pants. Miller wore button-down shirts. Eliza was a girl who curved. The river ran. Under rocks were moments that escaped like air. Miller's hands atop Eliza's. Eliza's pulling out from underneath. There is no way to stop a river. Even a dam holds it only paused for decades. Proximity of houses does not make love or lovers. What makes love is one thing that triggers another that triggers another. Like Miller this Eliza.

Eliza Loved Butterflies

Eliza loved butterflies and loved to watch them hover. The pin-drop of waiting between wings, when the body drifts and shudders. Eliza's house on a hill. A meadow between her and the river, butterfly full. Purple flowers and monarch wings, Eliza laying on her back, woven into the meadow, watching them pass as clouds. Eliza does not dream of men or children. A river is a passing thing. Butterflies understand what it means to skip. Eliza understands what it is to be a girl in a land of looming casualties. Eliza's sky is blue. Eliza's heart is between these wings.

Gideon Loved Eliza

Gideon loved Eliza. Their houses a breath apart, neighboring hills. Gideon with his brother Miller. Eliza with her meadow, her parents. Cannonballs in the sky rupturing into stars. Gideon was tall. Gideon wore boots and pants. Gideon wore button-down shirts. Gideon saw rocks in the river, the beauty of Eliza, her hair drowned in butterflies. A dam is a means of control, Gideon with his hands on Eliza's. Eliza pulling her hands out from underneath. The only assurance is the coming of rifles and the fragments of human pictures that develop. Gideon flush with the river. Gideon fevering for her.