Wade

The water is cold and dark

And the smell of the metal and reeds

And the bark of the trees

Unsettles me alarms and is marked by the

Pale umbilical trail of the moon

I must travel soon

Well the rain's been kind

But the sun has been blind

And it's not the kind of climate to plant a seed

We worked the land but the mud in our hands

Is not gonna stand another mouth to feed