will to good

She called in tears
She had ripped her public wrapping
trying to get it back on
having discarded it to go skinny dipping
it was full moon
there was a canal where the water was silver
fish stretched themselves in the colorless light
someone mouthed the words do wah do wah, do wah do wah

It was hard to tell through her sobs
how sticky the situation had become
Thinking little I hopped on a Greyhound bus
the better to quickly hit the backroad
In my pack, the ephemeris and knitting needles
It would take the magic of grandmothers
To reweave her persona and slip it over her shy shoulders
before morning light caught her by the skin
and heaved her panting over the edge of the rising sun
back into the darkness

Whatever success came of that roadtrip
was not my doing
other than this thing
will to good