Waterfall

You crouch on a template of wet stone.
Quicksilver tongues leap from a silken drop
that spreads to embrace this plateau,
work hairline fractures to gulfs,
unlock earth from bare tree roots.
From sky-filled rocks, the stream hurtles,
erratic needle of light, towards the valley.
You crouch and listen, your fingers
touch the water's pulse, its flight
from source to turbulent birthing.
Near your hand, a splashed leaf —
pearls in a green ear. Rhythms of spray
ghost that line of crystal, envelop
its voice with a soundless singing.