THE MEETING OF WATERS
Close by that joining, the swamp-dwellers grow:
a grove of young alder.
Catkins – saffron, pendent – are but scanty
shelter from the wettest month on record.
Here, where the Lark and Linnet meet,
we watch their confluence –
a swollen, muddy gluggle jug.
Mull over what each brings, what together
these veins bear away: drainage and discharge,
none of it can be turned back.
Yet this flow is failing; from chalk-fed springs
gin-clear, to tainted last outpouring,
abstraction, impoundment, heatwaves
all inflict some loss.
Still, we hope for mayfly clouds, know
that upstream, in cleaner gravel
lamprey and bullhead breed.
Later crowfoot flowers, also starwort.
The rain eases to a smur. We question
how different future-not-yet-come could be
from one which is no more.
iii. 2024
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