At Bridal Veil Falls, Yosemite National Park
Were I to write of what I look upon,
the ink would smear upon a dampened page,
the focal point would be obscured by mist,
and every rivers’s flowing would be this.
I’d write to you of searching for the source
somewhere before the falling from the cliff
above my craning neck with which I look
toward the ledge, the falls, and sky beyond.
Through mist, behind the falls must be some sight
more precious than my eye can yet behold,
so beautiful that, were the veil to rise
impressing in my eye the face beyond
the waters falling from their source like tears,
I’d realize whose veil I looked upon.