Wednesday, July 6, 2016

Variations on 100 Poems (#55, variant B)

I remember there being a waterfall
here. You could hear it
as you approached, like a factory
where water worked
away at the stone
grain by grain.
Now, the pool is dry
and the forest talks over us
like too many phone calls.
But I remember
the sound it made,
the way light came and went
making up the stories we would tell
about that secret spot we found
only we knew existed.

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