The River Tet

The River Tet Underground, in stagnant pools, the river waits. Frozen, pencil-line streams of memory melt, snake past buck who rest in meadows with fallen leaves. Into December, fed by flashbacks and muddy sleep, its tributaries gather yesterday and your morning. The current surges, deposits deltas along the embankment, but courses, courses past the jingle of bells, the promise of new year. Memories plunge around rocks that erupt at bends like rockets. Forgotten ...