At the top of the falls
Is a quiet place where the water
Gathers and placidly flows
To where it conforms
To a gentle S-curve
That bends the light
Of reflected hemlocks and sky
From there it drops Turns wild
Cascades ledge to ledge Explodes
Plummets to where it gathers again
And flows We follow
Through the forest
The trees do not know us
But they don't stop us
The forest slopes down
Between the trees far ahead
A silvery sheen
Or is it blue? Sometimes blue
Sometimes silver It is
A lake of gently lapping waves
And little wooded islands
Lake of memory
The wind on this water
Is quiet and darker
Between two close islands
But out beyond the cove
Beyond the islands the wind
Plays rough with the waves
Why did it take me
So long to return here
And then only by accident
Standing on a root-knitted shore
With my son Downstream
From Shelving Rock Falls?