The Creek in Summer
by Judy Clarence
Last spring this creek
rushed with life, its brown
current streaming, as it flushed
away the week’s heavy rains. Over-
burdened were its banks, stressed
to contain the anxious flow.
Now summer. The creek bed stones,
dry as old bones, lie silent.
And this is how I too shall die,
all the torrents dried,
veins empty, skin sallow,
unstressed, pulled back into the earth.
Spring, summer, lo!
The same bird sings!