Oheo Stream.
Gods weep with joy,
the lifted earth receives.
Each drop an embryo, each drop a kiss.
The pleated uplands open wide
their folds,
and water slips into a thousand
silver braids. Which seethe.
And rush. And find a million ways
between the roots of ferns.
Now down a glistening face of blueblack rock
it goes. In sheets. And carries in itself
a silver light. Which pools.
And when the slope allows
it pools again. And gathers.
Then falls through vaults of circulating winds.
The roar begins.
And now the channels, carved
and carved again,
run swift, so swift, and thrum
with hidden song.
They widen now, as water
calls to water, hurries home—
to join the pulsing of the waiting sea.
