We’ve seen our footings fall

to sludge, the coastline’s bludgeoned contours blurred

beyond recall; have seen, through slurred

decrees and sleights of hand,

a state of blank forgetfulness

usurp the levelled sand.

Inland the trends resume:

the mild, meandering and dawdling brook

we played with here, that neared each nook

so placidly, now sprawls

and runs in rills, its limpid long-

hand lines erased by scrawls

and blots, its progress in-

discriminate. This element, the same

inconstant force that gave us names,

that gave the world a face

to face, now claims its blessing back. 

Disoriented, we trace

what signs remain of once-

familiar paths; the pasture, grove and glade

all but illegible, we wade

through long-neglected tracts

hard on the heels of every word

the water’s edge redacts.