She has apple on her leg and the pine needles
fall from way up in the tree tops one by one
in this place of falling water and the water
cascades down the wide, sheer face
of the cliff, over black rock, covered
in dark green wet moss and the sounds
of voices are distorted by the constant rain,
by the space and time in forest.
It is one view to say I want to have had
these experiences, it is another to say
this has happened in the past and the present
is but a mirage, a moment that happens constantly
and in every part of a waterfall, separately
and at exactly the same moment.
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