Random Poetry

At Reinbach Falls

Up the mountain we are pulled.
A stream appears through the muddle of trees.
A field glances out between trunks.
I reach outside the funicular
letting my fingers graze damp, cool rock.
We’re entirely surrounded here
by the greens of leaves, stems, trees.

At the top,
I can hear before I see –
the way hearts sometimes know
before heads –
the graceful thundering.
Peering over a stout wooden fence
and across a small ravine,
the falls of Sherlock and Moriarty.
Too high to see the spilling-over point.

Squatting on a rock,
I point for Jackie,
showing her how to watch
for falling water
between tall, waving grasses
and flowers on the hillside.

We hush ourselves and listen
to the thunder.
To the left is a field.
In the field is a house.
Behind the house is a mountain:
solitary
towering
rugged.

This water never freezes.

September 1998

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