The Waterfall
Two round mounds of sand
beached in a green valley,
the brown hills stood, sturdy and strong.
Their strength comforted and frightened her,
like his arms.
Don’t cry, he said, walk with me.
He took her hand.
It used to feel like coming home,
but she had lost her way.
They climbed the stony path.
Above them the hawks soared,
mobile, immobile,
at ease on the invisible cushion of warm mountain air.
And then, suddenly, the waterfall.
Like a cloak, it fell
in folds and curls of rustling silk
around the slender shoulders of the sheer rock fall.
Drawn to its side,
she stood immersed in the sound and sight
of its timelessness.
Always the same, she said, always the same,
and turned to go
still holding his hand.
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