The gully leads the land to the water table
For the water’s sake as a young man
Would lay his coat in mud for the queen
The branch flows all summer gathering
Grasses and birches skirts all billowing
Because the pastures kindly tilt this way
This farm’s eight acres inclined to the sea
Sending water down and down even after
The trees have lifted so much to the sky
All last year I built sacred fires in caves
As high as I could find but in this watershed
The fire circle goes down behind the branch
And I still don’t know how it is I got here
Or why water behaves this particular way
But some love has roped me, and I will stay.
© Bill Prindle, 2018
 |
Sprout Creek
Photo by Julian Colton
from Wikimedia Commons |
