Piper at the Gates of Gone

One more flash-flood mark on the tangled bank,

Mud and grasses hanging from bent branches

And the odd archaeological scrap

Deposited, another faerie flag

Of intricately tattered human hopes,

The page of a paperback book, a skein

Of toilet paper, a bit of plastic

Clothing manufactured so far from here

The oceans could not conceive of a world

Dry enough for destruction by a  flood.

What water lifted and carried down, wind

Will rearrange more gradually. All gone

Except for shepherds' carvings in the bark's

Torn strips, qui cum sapientia cadit.