It finds a way.
It finds a way.
The river is concrete and littered with human runoff.
You can hear the spattering of sewage pouring into the rivulets of moss.
Two overturned shopping carts submersed in the muck, rust eating away at their bones.
Somehow the door of a car.
I’d like to hear that story.
Long ago this river rose up and pulled 30 people into it and flushed them out to sea.
They entombed the basin in walls of concrete for that.
And it rages still when it rains, but we’ve tamed it now. It’s a big dog but it’s behind the fence.
Will it ever escape?
It finds a way.
There between the shopping carts. A green headed duck, and a brown winged mother.
Between them seven duckilings bobbing like fuzzy corks.
It finds a way.
