The Emperor Crosses the River to Visit His Own Son

I.
William of Newburgh says that when the emperor forded for a land he did not know, his companions complained: risk of treacherous waters. Yet the emperor wanted a son's company. The water was treacherous, and the plunge took his horse. For days the royal corpse was lost. The waves were ignorant of the respect due imperial dignity. That's William, and a laugh.

Or the emperor may have wanted to bathe, the day being hot. The lapping current was not so timid as it seemed. The emperor vanished either way, and became for William a moral of inscrutability. A judgment is here, but I do not know of what.

II.
Folding laundry and thinking of the son at the riverbank. This yellow towel with a monster's head: hers, whom I love. After every bath she folds herself in yellow skin, a ceaseless terrycloth terror. I'd cross a river for her company. I'd chance becoming someone else's moral.

I know the world does not work like this. The towel could be empty in my hands, always empty in my hands, and me here, wondering what river carried her away.