Here, an unlikely gurgle from between two rocks,
becomes a stream wiggling its way
through narrow rifts and passages,
a silent flow of glistening silver,
and yet, somewhere in the background,
gravity plays the ultimate puppet-master,
instilling, in every drop of water,
the idea that there is only ever the one direction,
and that is downward.
Somewhere below, where the drops are steep,
a meager current suddenly cascades
over ancient lava flow,
merges with other rivulets,
abandons slow motion for freefall,
descends the mountain in a liquid cavalcade,
on course for a river spawning lake.
Somewhere, far from here,
people find great joy
in swimming, splashing,
rainbow trout fishing,
in this very same water.
I dip a finger in its cool beginnings.
to similar effect.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, River And South and Tenth Muse. Latest books, “Subject Matters”,” Between Two Fires” and “Covert” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Paterson Literary Review, White Wall Review and Cantos.