More waterfalls. A cascade poem.
Water falls in echoes of the spring,
the rushing crystal tide that soaked the earth
and flooded green and growing seeded soil.
Beneath the summer sun, the ripples run
in ghosts of rivers, pattering of rain-
water that falls in echoes of the spring.
Ditches dry as dust, now hard-baked mud,
shaded by green spears, deep roots recall
the rushing crystal tide that soaked the earth.
I listen to the hiss of poplar leaves,
the susurration of the torrents past,
that flooded green and growing seeded soil.