What the Brook Knows

Brook knew the ways
through marl and loam,
over silt and clay,
between the pores
of ancient sandstone.

Brook knew the colloquy
of an underwater realm-
wetlands and ponds
joined by streams
in great service to the river.

Brook knew the day
excavators bent her course,
sent her gasping
over wooden hurdles
through grilles and culverts.

Brook knew matrices
of pipes and drains,
how she could not wash
the pollution out of her hair
in the spring rain.

Yet as the valley greens
in fronds of fern and crooked reed
and celandine opens yellow-gold,
Brook knows how to forgive
where a human heart cannot.

Fish House Brook

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