Don’t go where I can’t find you

We talk with hands dangling from the side of a boat, fingers grazing the surface and ambling gently down the Illinois river, RV camps lining the banks alive and discarded. I lose you in intermittent blinding sunlight shot through a dense cloud bank.

“Don’t go where I can’t find you.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m serious.”

It’s just me now. The early heat tricks trees into budding too soon, leading their light green shape directly into the jaws of the next frost, but it’s alright. I’m insisting in a bar in some…