Water

        
        High up     
        on the rocky, parched roadside
        we see the smooth dark shape
        of water, way, way below.

        There's no road really
        just dry rocky earth to follow down;
        like water that finds the easiest path
        we dribble down towards the stream, the river.

        The river that blasted through the rock,
        carved a channel deep, drop by drop
        flickered a shaft through stone
        and amplified it into an immense ravine.
        
        There's a bus being washed
        under the bridge,
        They use gravel too,
        enthusiastically scrubbing and splashing.

        We clamor about a bit.
        My husband touched by hawks
        as they hover on cliff currents high above.
        Nell enthralled by all the color and shape
        of sheer rock.
        The boys entranced by bugs,
        especially the beetle with long long legs
        to hold him up off the ground,
        the parching ground.

        Dust on my finger tips,
        my face,
        wind...
        
        Go down to wash in the river.
        ebb and flow with the sound
        of water wearing down rock
        and splashing on my feet.
         

poem copyright ©2000 Anne Selden Annab