Two waterfalls meet,
white liquid air.
A proud hickory towers into the canopy,
as Morning’s fingers entwine through the leaves.
The shadows mesh with the dark rock spots,
spirited lacerated beauty.
Many have died upon those rocks,
walls, separation, oceans.
The water continues
not listening nor worrying
entangled with a mysterious thread.
The bed of rocks tremble under the force of the water
as it plunged downward with a delicate pounding
and the blossomed heart sprung open
giving forth life farther down.
Morning’s light runs down the path,
followed by morning herself
laughter bounces off the rocks
and the sphinx, perched upon the rocks
sticks its head above the canopy
to proclaim the meeting of the two.
Smyon-Pa 