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Monday, August 30, 2010

An old description of Niagara Falls-Parrish, Robinson, Amy Bennet, Ensor , di Giovanni


We could not see where

The end of the land came.

The French told us we must

Leave the water and walk

For a distance of many leagues

Because of a great waterfall

That would not allow us passage upstream.

These woods were old,

Filled with highways

And worn places, used by men.

The night we heard the

Waterfall was memorable. It

Seemed a constant wind that

Did not move the trees at all.

All sound. And then

The place itself. The voice of water

Articulate and incessant

Filling all of consciousness

For enormous moments.

There could not be such a place.,

Yet there it was.

Day and night forever

Through such time as man

Cannot but fancy.

All the choirs of the angels

Singing together precisely,

In this manner, so it seemed.

The greens, the whiteness,

The bows of colored light

By day and pale ghosts of

Them in the moonlight.

This must be what prayer

Was like in power and in voice.

All our lives we bathed our

Memories in this gift.

We joined it to our children,

Drove it through our dreams,

Hovering near its mists as long

As soul would cling to flesh

And then we joined this voice;

The rapids and the rills,

The clicking of the rocks,

The huge sighing of the

Place as it continues

Its descriptions with water.

I hear you hearing this.

All of us hear you hearing this.

It is a rushing through the seasons,

A mouth unlike any other.

We look into your eyes. You look into time itself,

The way all life understands it,

Full and incomplete,

Always moving. Time is water.

Time is the huge falling

That we saw here, surely

A fair description.

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