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Water Story |
Snow muscles swell, rush, gnarl,
roar, growl, rub. Firelightning
crackles past ears, here in tombs
under thunderfalling damanation
of black water.
There was no time on slopes
of wind and snow falling;
there was cold eye-light,
small by small fainting
in layers of white wind.
Ways to see all directions
of mountains melt in runnels;
silences, smashed sprays, carry
grass and flower forms. A clean
drink of wind and spark light,
runs curvatures, drops from
ledges, and we listen with water
eyes, falling into someone
who is dawn light.
Our looking is also water and flows
its own faith--echo fibers, moist
woven from want; because there
is no way to live down free being.
Water awake or asleep falls. Wet
black weight on shoulders, on hair,
the body is swept along full of listening.
copyright 2012
Russell
Salamon |
