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.