Sunday, October 21, 2012


The roaring never stops. We could have been here
for a whole day in the minutes we've been transfixed
since crawling the slippy ledge and arriving
before the creature whose grotto this is - the jut-jawed,
dead-eyed sentinel coiled into the rock, demanding answers
from us: implacable interrogation hammering incessantly;
blind, chthonic force dwelling secretly, and disturbed.
All this in the beauty of stray sunlight
finding its way through the opening high above.
And can you see it? The cascade holds a shadow,
a dark intensity inside vision filling the light; spellbinding.
Is all life warm? This is raw.
Ground cracked open, water falls through forever.
Am I dreaming the voices? The invading cold?
Sentient, I grasp living things beyond me.

Back in the sunshine I can climb up or down.
I can see the trees, but all I know is water, rock.

15 October 2012

1 comment:

  1. Peter, thank you again, for bringing this power and beauty with you to our places, for bringing these places with you to our power and beauty, for bringing us to you, I hope you feel loved because I love you for these words