drought dry only a fortnight, and no trace of the swimmers--not a bloated bass or a skeletal carp only a few lily pads burnt russet by the sun
all else, perverse interlopers from modernity: bullet banged beer cans, truck tires, and the ubiquitous bottle water plastic waiting patiently for the next ice age
no sign of one fish that emitted a last gilled gasp here
deep beneath the bed though progenitors rest, theirs and ours, antediluvian, Permian, as permanent as the word allows my footfalls above them today tomorrow silent where they lay