We did not see the swollen river
overtop its banks, failed by the
modest bow of its channel, its
traffic doubled by the bludgeon
of three consecutive moonrises
under rain, waters earth-brown.
Instead, we passed a day later,
taken by the bleached streamers
of torn-up grass, stretched like
comet-tails from the lowest boughs
of thornbushes, calm swirls of sand
making fish-loops across our path.
first published in Southlight Magazine, issue 22, 2017