the voice of many waters lost in he cleft of dark green hills
the breast of the world and the life giving waters
the headlands thrust into the maelstrom, into the turbulent sea
and walk inevitably toward it
just to see what’s there
but you can see it
buy you can’t see you there
and somehow, you want to.
there are too many stones to throw at this beach
half submerge
fully realized
you wouldn’t think a black and white photo of a waterfall could show you anything
but there it is like a precursor or a negative image
the mist surrounding the cascading waters like a penumbra
a foreshadowing of depths yet to be plumbed or heights that having let slip one
these waters will never see again
slightly pointed boulders the color of rusty sand
all standing in unison in he middle of barren desolation
a conclave of stones in the emptiness
an empty cathedral on the edge of desert wastelands
someone abandoned their Gods.
they went to alter time again
first sacrificing their own blood and tears
to scratch a town out of a meager mining pit
then they sacrificed the lives of the children who
could be tricked into staying in the middle of no where.
In the end the stone Gods said nothing
and so the people left
And in the silence and the emptiness
when no one was about for a hundred miles
the stone Gods spoke their captive audience of wind and sand
and sang a song wind over the dried out bones of the earth
wet faces shining in the sun
wet film like a liquid masque peeling off the face of the rocks
like new skin
offering a shine were there was none before
skeletal trees rising from river mist
wooded horse, wooden rider
two entangled dead trees looking for all the world like
a horse and rider galloping out of lake and on to dry land
with wizened faces and limbs akimbo
looking through the mountain to see see the lake bed
looking past a reflection to see the cool flat rocks below
Surrendered all hope of a sunny day
and resigned myself to the clouds
they were not fertile clouds
for there was no rain
they were not angry clouds
for there was no wind
there was only the diffuse sunlight and the feeling of being submerged
at some vast but as yet undiscovered depth.
A misty river in a mossy vale
A catchment full to the brim of moonlit water
Lichen covered boulder worn smooth by time and water
Knee deep in the dragonfly grasses
Barren beach on a cold lake
Ribbed dry bones of the earth
a place of water ages past but alas, it flows no more
Stacatto cliffs like shattered bones and broken teeth
Twisted shoals mired in milky mist
In the end the Angel folded her wings
and let her body fall through the cold air toward cruel stone
till at last she sparks and catches flame and crashes down into a turbulent sea
hair ablaze shedding burning feathers the color of a thousand sunsets
An Angel of fierce countenance guards the Western gate
wings aflame in the dying sun
Eyes like the end of time.
Raiment the color of a thousand sunsets.
naked red rocks in the desert
dry and smooth like stripped but otherwise unblemished skin
dark pines line a steep grade to shrouded cliffs
dark blue mountains bathed in milky mist
ribbed beaches and shallow water
sand shiny as wet skin
rugged cliffs steaming with morning mist
sharp agave spines framing a misty value
squat green spiny with waxy leaves
a thousand years of mud flows through rocky cliffs
as the evening goes blue around the edges
a milk tide curls up through the dark Australian waters
whether it is mist or some albino algae who knows
but it looks for all the world like someone poured milk into the sea
