A Dry Gully Lies

As if it is expecting to fill
[but not in summer & so
she lies] a dry dredge of
leaf-rot layers & fixing of
soil into banks – a funnel
of geography/ Split trees
languor – supine – on this
rough stick-bed ready for
floods to rise [ask Noah]/

I sit on a bough – my legs
complain – shit floats – &
other family sayings I am
yet to broach – my kids’ll
wait – they hear a falsity –
[it keeps others so-sweet
& half afloat] – shit floats/
My eldest repeated truths
aloud [I also speak them]/

A path crosses its birthing
place – a dry gully of fallen
crosses & dammable logs/
It is down from here in our
mud-winter – it’ll flow from
here/ & my year old dog is
keen to dig up water & my
youngest son is on a lake –
without a soul to save him