Holocene (villanelle)

Somewhere, on the moor, the river fills.

The river turns, the river breaks,

The river runs the ragged hills.

The river’s wild, but the moor is still.

The forked sky heaves and shakes.

Somewhere, on the moor, the river fills.

The river seeks to quietly kill;

The watershed is peaked and quakes,

The river runs the ragged hills.

The tors are swallowed, the river wills

to flood the reservoirs and lakes.

Somewhere, on the moor, the river fills.

Lightning and convulsion, the clouds distil

their heavy load, the ice to take.

The river runs the ragged hills.

The river has the land to till;

The river turns, the river breaks.

Somewhere, on the moor, the river fills.

The river runs the ragged hills.