Keri Woll
Unnamed Falls in Ishpeming, Michigan
The immutable murmur of the river
Gurgles in the distance.
Drawn to the drone of the splatter,
To smooth gray stones
That are licked by
The swoosh of the water,
A black abyss
That consumes.
The river's life force roars.
The water churns, creating a foam
That bubbles into a rich brown froth.
The sap-kissed water creates
A prism of light as it
Pours over the rocks like fresh honey,
Splashing its stickiness onto outstretched arms.
The rocks sweat under the force of the water--
Everything becomes slick and moist.
The mist-laden mosquitoes
Hover over the avalanche of amber:
Suspended beads of water
Splashed up and frozen in the sunlight
And memory.