Niagara

Parched scrub yellows the

strand of shale and rock shoals

disseminate themselves

into the moody lap of lake

which has lost itself in sky.

We wade the low pools and reflect—

high pines tremble in our wake.

A tanker scores the horizon

faring cloud-swell—

no difference is the sameness of grey.

I ask for a name

get a jumble

of gull scaw and laughter,

maybe Iroquois—

I skip a stone in my own tongue

fall with it until it rests

throwing a brief halo

of silt that shifts for the sun

turn for the sand

spy a rabbit in the brush

thin rain comes over us.

Whispering stone

softened by the sea—

I build a small cairn

there and leave.