On our old road, for years, the ditches
cut their little pleasure paths,
and we built around them
as they followed the sweeps and pulls of land
into the bottoms and ravines
that fed the rain into limestone.

A conduit—a culvert—
a dark polypropylene creek
collects all it can carry unseen, between
the rows and roads we live on.

It leaves—
after it’s done its damage—doesn’t stagnate,
drops through rock to the Rockcastle,
into chambers never to be seen.
It cuts under everything

til the water resurfaces a county over–
renamed, gushes forth carrying minerals.
Lost ditch, leached from every secret thing
it has passed through.