The Falls

I. The Wonder of Present Tense

                                   

The falls thunder like ten thousand hands clapping;

The applause that never stops.

Jutting rocks clutch cliffs like children

Clinging to their mother's arms.

Aloft, a sea eagle hangs in the mist

Rising like a dialogue whispered in a daydream,

Its call forlorn in the frenzy

Of water lunging like a stampede of cattle,

Like defeated soldiers fleeing a battle,

On a devious path threading green woodlands

Toward the unknown sea.

A jasmine-flavored breeze nudges our backs,

Pushes us closer to the roar that explodes near our feet.

The palms of my hands press harder on the smooth skin of stones

Rounded by a span of time I cannot imagine.

A change of wind and the spray attacks us with its cold fingers

Running down our faces, like tears of exaltation.

II.  Remembrance

The waterfall's surging passion lingers

As my last thoughts tonight.  I remember

Those chaste tears on your cheeks

Like translucent freckles.

Recently I heard the faint shriek

Of a sea eagle dangling in the spray

Above the falls that cascade in my mind, in my ears.

My eye watched you point toward the wings spread open,

Like a book of wonder.

I heard that a drought stole the last moisture from the land;

Rivers shriveled into drops, the falls became a drool.

Gulps of fresh water ended; the drink reduced to sips. 

The sea eagle's cry echoed off the knuckled cliffs,

Like a nostalgic woe piercing the wind-whipped air.

The falls cascade in my mind, in my ears.

Remember when we watched the eagle plunge

Down the face of the falls, like a teardrop

On the waterfall of your delicate face?

We panned the gushing curtain,

Afraid to know what lay below

The shadows' play on deeper waters.

We scanned the surface of the pool

At the foot of the falls

Afraid of being swallowed like tiny fish

By feelings larger than ourselves.

Our throats gasped for high ground;

We fled afoot and wove a path among some pine

Back to the roadside and the familiar route to town.

The falls cascade in my mind, in my ears.

Fears numb the fingers of my heart;

My touch is duller now as is my sight,

But in the quiet of a lonely night,

I close my eyes and hear

Ten thousand clapping hands

Swallowed by a blue hole

Down the throat of time.

                                                -- C. S. Cholas, 4 February 1998, Hilo