Falling Water
Hear Peter Davison read "Falling Water", recorded in 1998.
Wherever it commences perhaps as random
raindrop tapping on a leaf and tumbling
into a tea-stained mosscup
it helplessly inquires after
lower levels whether seeping
darkly through silt
and marl to enlarge an imprisoned
aquifer shortcut or taking its chances to trickle
out through a slit of clay to join its first
brook and amble off into the yielding
soft-shouldered marsh past fat roots of
lilies to linger among the slick fronds
of algae paddled by ducks pierced by
pickerel to hurry itself and
whisk into the outlet that will boil it
along a streambed grid of gravel toward another
stairstep of idleness the lucid
lake spritzed with sparkling sun
there to seek its breach to tip and hurtle into
yawning torrent and the great meander
that will sweep it slow and away out
and empty into the broad salt
sleep that will cradle it until
the sun siphons it again
to knit into more rain.