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BENEATH THE FALLS
Beneath the falls
blinded by wet silver
the world is a roaring blur.
How many times have I seen
the mist in the swamp soften
the winter skeletons of maples?
How many times have I seen Hawaii mountains
shrouded in Buddha clouds
lifting tuffs of soft gray fur
from the spires of lost cities?
The faded pointillism
a shirt washed too many times
the thin cloak of gesso figures
the semi-opaque glaze
We see the veil.
Our minds fill in the rest.
Universes shout
beneath translucent waterfalls.
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