The Falls

she sits
knees wrapped tight
in tensioned arms
senses strung
with a bowstrings might

rain drips
shrouding the air
in misty curls
of angels hair
wrapping us in mysteries

the sound
of green
sights unseen
smells of things
that may have been

mists arise
from depths below
sounds of falls
you want to know
yet are afraid to see

smells of green
from ferns an trees
moss and breeze
you want to know
yet are afraid to see

mists billow up
from the chasm below
drawing you in
to places you know
yet are afraid to see

I’m here
it calls
from rocks
and froth
just me

the falls
over the precipice
through the mists
it calls
beckons to be seen