Waterfall

I sit at the foot of the mountain,
rugged mountain, shadowed majesty,
in the dusk of the day, and I hear
the harmonies of wind and water in
the laughter of a distant waterfall.
I cannot see it, but I know it is there.
I long to feel its soothing spray fill
the pores of my flesh, penetrate to
the tender dryness of my soul.  Yet,
it is enough to hear its song and
to feel my heart begin to sing again.
Somewhere, deep in a darkening
canyon, the waterfall whispers to
me over smooth, wet stones.  And I
am paralyzed in the pleasure of
the moment.  Shall I climb toward
the sounds, seek out the source of
my dusk delight?  Or, shall I remain
under the canopy of the willow
listening to the distant splash of
angels' wings as they frolic at the
foot of the mountain, in the pool
of paradise?

I shall lay aside my pack and rest
myself in the cool, green grass
as willow branches dance above
me and I drift to sleep in the embrace
of the earth, stilled by the song
of the waterfall.