before the waterfall,
rolling over rocks,
The world stands like a frozen waterfall,
a river paralyzed, impossibly.
And silence replaces its rushing call.
In stillness, it spurns gabbling audibly.
How can a cataract become so hush,
its business being unceasing motion,
spending its days, constantly in a rush,
dispatching raindrops back to the ocean?
Yet, now it's a tower - still as a stone -
that looms like it's never known transience.
Its icy curtain, hard as a shinbone,
offers a wholly different ambience.
I can see its beauty, but am still sad,
thinking the falls should be beyond the fads.
sing a mind into trance —
nearing the falls,
the grand spectacle becomes
a fog wall
sit under the cascade —
seeking earth’s center,
the river drops as far as
a round boulder
sits at the precipice,
refusing to roll
rice paddy cascades
murmur to trickle to
the overspill rolls