I was astonished at the mysterious slow-motion quality
The water was at a standstill because of the severity
of the wind,
taking on the glassy sheen described by authors who are moved
by personal destiny
and buy photographic postcards to capture the touched-up beauty
in which monks are chanting or the moss is growing up the north
side
of the rock walls extending like the Handel aria she sang, her
voice a waterfall
reaching from the top beyond the line of vision into the chasm
I fell into
in my dreams later that afternoon as I seemed to keep falling
into
no matter the various devices staged to prevent such an inexplicable
loss of
balance in the sounds are stilled and by coincidence I feel it
all
because at this time of year the shadows lengthen across the lawn
where someone makes her inarticulate way in the same direction.










