Here’s what I’ve seen: the machines
carving the sediment and silt
while balanced in the air, hovering over
the stormy river. Rushing through
tunnels, the beam knifes the belly, cutting
through the rapids. Insects in the sky,
drones the size of a backyard shed. And yet
I watch them hum their electronic music
as the dirt gives way, melts with ease
in their invisible fingers. I imagine small rivers
shift and give way at their carving. The water
bends as if choreographed. Maybe it knew this, too,
was coming. The river fragments. Branching, it splits
like a tree hit by lightning. The pools
losing power splinter off. They recall what they were.
