Gushing, throbbing exuberance
Echoes of every fall, every tumble
There’s pulsations in the fall
Lost in the static, a wavering drone
Exuberance gushes – frustration grinds
A timid bird pops up on the ledge
Overflow of the river has moistened the banks, a turmoil of mud and branches, a haven of flies.
Expanded with the rain, can this pounding be cleansing? Or is it an escape valve for overburdened clouds?
Runoff, surplus, remnants of plants’ needs – off to feed the horizon.
Water is renovation, hope to continue purer, closer to my dreams.
How many others sit at the banks of this river as it curls its way down. How many ranches, how many towns does it transerve? How many more falls can be accounted for by the remaining 1300 meters to reach sea level?
How many lovers come to soothe their quarrels by the flow of the water? How many will enjoy the sound of bubbles and eruptions on this overcast Sunday afternoon?
To this spot I’ve brought those who don’t think twice about plunging into the water; those who’ve brought offerings and prayer; those who need reminding to pick up their trash; those who are reminded of better times; those who begun to meditate.