The sunken stream lays across the land like a trench
In my dreams I see it, the old snail’s den zigzaging
Beneath the treeline there is only throttled sunlight
Sometimes the tadpoles and coin sized fish see snakes
And the rusty riverbed holds roting mangoes and red seeds
On it’s fringes weeds and moss are quartered
All year round the tree trunks and river side drip water
Sweating in the heat, living, breathing, calling in my dreams