Falling Water

 

You lay your head on my shoulder,

and I, my ear on your hair,

as we sat, looking out

over the leafless, tree-filled valley.

 

Below us somewhere, there was falling water.

 

The last mouthful of the apple

you had eaten to stave off your hunger,

crunched through your skull

and into my ear:

                              you in my head;

yet, of course, still out here,

 

creating a strange,

echoing, stereophonic effect

which at that moment

I wanted to enjoy,

not to dissect.

 

Later we reached the water,

and had our lunch by the falls,

surrounded by their seashell sussuration;

but then also by crowds of people,

out of nowhere,

suddenly in the same location:

 

a mother and her teenage daughter

in denim, like twins;

her son dressed in combat gear

with his face muddied up;

men with tousled hair,

and packs on their backs,

looking warily over the edge;

a pink-trainered, white-anoraked girl,

hair scraggily pony-tailed,

photographing the rainbowed spray;

and more,

                   endlessly,

                                     like falling water,

 

while, apart on the same damp rock,

we sipped our coffee,

and I looked over at you,

as you ate your chocolate guiltily.

 

~ by bod1952 on July 3, 2008.