Grace and Peace to you.
this one drop falling just now
between the branch and stone,
falling with cloud-mingled memory
of a line of Siberian lakes,
memory of a thousand emigrations
from swamp and steppe,
of zephyrs, monsoons, chinooks and squalls—
this drop is now distilled from all of that
and simply falls, led to this spot, this splat
on a stone, where it rests
after all those glaciers and rivers, rests
in this moment, and asks me:
before you rush off
to your next Patagonian slope
will you fall, here, through this very air,
and soak into this place,
before you are swept away?
perhaps not near you,
matters you yourself
will have to see.
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes