When it rains

you flow by
eleven quarry holes

dub the town: Stoneopolis;

of ballast stocks,

interminable.
Blast

Chip

Barge

Ship
Your ancient bed served London well:

her pavement smooth and durable

heels low and high,

as distant feet, hooved, unshod

sink into softer clays and silt

(like mine like mine).
When it rains

you flow high

waste of wool and skin:

the scouring foam

of sulfur, lime and tan,

to hair combed half moon estuary.

Mangrove fringed

in green and white.

Backwash named

to push away

loss of tea tree

casuarina

and untold lives who passed

(this way this way).
When it rains

you flow high

long cemented sides,

reminder:

water finds a way

to this bay home.
(to this bay this bay home).