Two waterfalls course through the trees’

roots braided along the stream composing

silvery music that tinkles onto limestone plates

 

each wooden strand a string plinked by wind, water

cascading along some staff turned sideways

so that notes slide into sun and mirror motes

 

aimed downstream, log no longer rough bark but

fluid light, the play of shadow holding green now

muting into softness I hear even through this

 

window how the rain of two days ago still sings

not from rooftop and thunder roll but through

this journey: drop-soil-darkness-seep-escape

 

to fall free again, travel the distance like

a new cloud, always returning, returning.