Deep in the bed, the old stones surface, the rivers receding to their oldest bones, and carved on their backs, drought finds purchase, the fear our grandfathers pressed to stones. _If you see me, weep_ — speaks drowned relief, each drought a hand shears riverbeds bare, exhuming what willow and heron knew, a warning gouged in grief was buried there. Once, water kept a thousand secrets — otter and eel, willow’s long shade. Now only sand inherits the names of things drought’s unmade. Turn, while you can, learn what eel once knew: mud remembers what the waters bore, otter's absence is a warning too, no one walks along the severed shore. So love the dwindling water while it’s here. love willow, love what disappears. Between the hunger stones and rain, draw near — a covenant for all that’s disappeared.