As the last tram carries
its dim light to the terminus,
and car parks are prairies
lost to litter and foxes,
the river finds its voice again,
clear over the north-bound traffic,
         So much for Mammon
and all you take from it
those loose fittings you cling onto
in the flood of your lives
for I will shimmer through
this valley till it cracks and gives
see your houses topple
streets furrow under trees
before I quicken swell
and wash black ashes to the sea.

Leave The River