After the wettest
Winter on record,
Arrowhead Falls
Has ceased to be
A fickle trickle.
Flash-flooded,
She flings herself off
The precipice and roars
Against the rocks.

Eight miles away,
The mad rain-gouged
Ground takes leave of
The mountain, frothing
with mudslides, pouring
into the newborn gorge.
A fevered shelf
Of white pines titter
Drunkenly and rear

Together like a herd
Of ponies, battling
The air. Their broken
Jumble flushes into
The river, steaming,
While the remaining
Members on top, bobcat
And poplar, continue
Their lap around the sun.

Forty days of endless
Swell might indeed
Engulf the world,
But God the Sieve,
With uncurbed regalia,
Parades his horrible
Habits, refusing to
Tell the joyous
Sky to cease.