
As I stood on the embankment,
glanced over the edge,
and watched the water careen
through the narrow creek,
crashing, lightly, as it fell
over rock,
over rock,
over rock,
all seemed still– except
that glistening cascade,
humming its constant gurgle.
The skeleton trees
lurched over the creek,
shielding it
from the eyes of the world,
concealing it
from everyone, but me.
I, under those bones,
stood atop an old blanket
of dry leaves, and clung
to the bark to keep steady
as I leaned with the dirt,
with the trees,
with the water,
and for a moment,
I felt those stones inside
begin to wear down,
as the stream
flowed down my cheeks,
along with the creek.