Where the river pours itself into the reservoir’s arms
A thousand fields lie flooded
Cypress sentinels stand watch, shrouded in moss
Watching the ospreys dive to fill their talons with fish,
Writhing fins and tail fighting to swim the dry air
Toward the moist pool of a nestling’s throat
Widening its breadth one grain of sand at the time,
The lake claims new land
A tree falls, unseen, unnoticed, unsupported, and undercut
Roots grasping vainly at the void of air,
They find no anchorage
The voices of ghosts cry out from the submerged bottomland,
The voices of centuries and cultures, long forgotten and recalled,
Yet all drowned in the flood of silence
The lapping of soft waves
And outboard motors
Their voices echo through the turbines of the dam
Throwing light upon our town
5-29-2013
©2019 Lenny Wells
Thoughts From The Orchard 