Seeing Rocks Cropping Out of a Hill in Central Park from Issue 11
Boisterous water arrested, these rocks
are water’s body in death. Transparent
water falling without stop makes a wall,
the frenzied soul of rock its white breath.
Dark water’s inflated wave, harsh spray
is ghost of a boulder, and cave’s
marble, agitated drapery. Stillness
water screams for, flying forth,
the body of death. Rock dreams
soul’s motion, its hard birth.