Like noise of the pouring river
the mind lets go, throws spray
like water’s pulse and hurl.
What’s true for the waterfall
is true for the water before its fall,
at the brink recalls and
recoils, spins and rolls forward
into that fall. It never runs out,
never loses the weight
of its being, the nervous stuttering
surge of energy at its conversion.
The river pours, but is always at
the edge, the border of ordinary
purpose and extraordinary force.