When the floods come there is nothing a body can do.
find higher ground
pull up a dry rock
sit around and…speculate.
Seated in vestments…
a question or two…
‘can you keep a good dog down?’
‘why is it…truly bad thoughts…never go without sacred vows?’
Low visibility hinders my train of beaten trails.
Shiftless misogynistic barriers fear no mother.
For if loneliness can go…I could take my hand for a lover.
cremation’s cauldron will saturate by flood’s fury.
Solid mossy root will relocate
all a navigator can do…
is ‘sit and wait.’