BY THE DIGHTY, AFTER FLOODS by Beth McDonough Waist high, debris wattles trunks, carrier bags remember flood height. Finger twigs droop, catch drip half-drown cloot ghosts as slipbanks pock with a rush-up slewed by fled rats. Beside the spate of this town’s bourne, whatever passed still pulses. I choose to suppose myself safe. Gyroscope Review - page 5!