Wet Met

photo by Ray Hennesey at Unsplash

The flooding river runs from home, backed
by mountains, belching snow melt,
silting into the sun boiled sea.
This course is rural, only cows ankle deep,
I count nine crows amused by churling
reflections.

Nature, headline worthy of late,
flexes for a fight, slides over the bank,
pesticides taint the swell.
The spring…