A hill river in spate

in its pomp

its waterfalls are thunder

to its name

the call and response

of precipitation and gradient

the fall they call “snow”

is a curtain of moving water

frothing and seeming to boil

the torrent

and the history

of the torrent

and all its previous versions

various machinations

volumes speeds and force

have left on the bank

smoothed stones

the size and shapes

of loaves of bread

and cakes

roots are exposed

hard

obdurate

obstinate

the healthy brown bones

of the skeleton trees

fringing the foam

this water course flows underground

swallowed by a wide mouthed cave

we pause and peer

at the vanishing point

our boots lapped by the shallows

the air loaded with

the incense of spray

and someone else’s cannabis smoke