A hidden stream runs deep
through the soil under this town.
There is the river, of course
churning through its channelled
constricted structured way.
But there is another web
of hidden trickling streams
a ream of unwritten rivulets
that oozes in silence deep
beneath the roads and stones,
those familiar names and voices
and streets laced with that great
intricacy of unintended design.
An interlocking mesh
of unwritten words
of so many hopes,
deeds long forgotten
lives toiling endlessly
to ensure that food
and clothes were bought
and children could eat and grow.
(Excerpt “FAY”)
