This torrent comes crashing down,
A wild thing from up so high.
Niagra would look with awe at this fall.
Mostly we gather on the shore.
And the holy men in their hip waders bring the little cups.
They grimace as they fill them and bring them back to us.
The spray and the run off have soaked them.
They walk slowly. Slowly to us.
Apostles and apprentices towel them off solemnly.
There are so many of us here now.
We wait. And the water is so much of everything.
But the cup is emptied so soon.
I do not listen to them as I step into the water.
I discard my clothes and I do not care that they are watching.
I stand beneath the waterfall with my arms stretched out wide.
They make a wide space for me,
As they continue their conveyance to their followers,
Back and forth, back and forth.