Fallswater

"Never more, Miranda
Never more
Only the high peaks hoar
And Aragon a torrent at the door
No sound but the fall of the tread of the dead
To the ground of the hall
No sound but the boom
Of the far waterfall like doom."

[Tarantella by Hilaire Belloc, recorded 1932]

Hold the slide up to the light, and see the place
The wind blows, screams and moans
Chills you to your hollow bones
And knocks you to the ground
And the water rushes down
Cuts through stone, teeth and bone
Whites of eyes, froths and foams
And wraps you in a cloud

And the drip drip drip
Of the water cold down your back
Cold stone deaf your breathing edges to black
White white noise white white light forcing you back

And the sing sing sing of the spray and the wavelengths of light
Every one suspended in the blink of an eye
White white noise white white light edges to black

Hear it now, listen
Hear it now
Over the high wind's cry
On the wet, wet ground
No sound
In the walls of the halls
Where the fall of the tread
Of the feet that are lead
To the ground
No sound
But the roar of the waterfall