The land knows so much.
We should listen.
Day after day, night after night,
the shifting skies
unburden themselves.
Wring out the clouds
and this great green sponge –
she takes it in.
And in, and in.
Only glimpses,
gaps in the rock
to burbling streams
beneath –
revealing how close
to saturation point she is.
She can only absorb so much.
Only swallow so much
before the sweet water
starts to choke, to drown.
Sudden overspill,
and torrent,
rushing wild and cold
the ages of black
wet rock –
Water – life and death.
Picks us up like pebbles
throws us about.
Strips us bare –
down to the bed rock.
Our sharpened edges on show,
all topsoil gone
and the water level rising
– still rising in the neath.


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