The Waterfall

Orb-weaver shivering
among the filaments: how many
fibers generated from within
transect the air?

How many hirsute, sightless
gropings anchor
these redwood trees, suffuse
the flowery traceries

of the oxalis? The veining
in this hand, these
eyeballs, the circuitous
and scintillating

leap within the brain—
the synapse,
the waterfall, the black-
thread mane of fern

beside it—all, all
suspend, here:
everywhere, existences
hang by a hair