Falls
Over the stone lip
the creek leaps out as one
divides in spray and streamers,
lets it all go.
Above, back there, the snowfields
rocked between granite ribs
turn spongy in the summer sun
water slips out under
mucky shallow flows
enmeshed with roots of flower and moss and heather
seeps through swampy meadows
gathers to shimmer sandy shiny flats
then soars off ledges-
Crash and thunder on the boulders at the base
painless, playing,
droplets regather
seek the lowest,
and keep going down
in gravely beds.
There is no use, the water cycle tumbles round-
.
~Gary Snyder, from “The Flowing”
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