Above the Falls

Side by side, we walk together
in the early morning mist.
He has outgrown my hand,
striding evenly and clear-eyed
up the twisting mountain path.

Beneath his ball cap, red hair,
wild from a short night’s rest,
springs vine-like over ears burned
red by the Tennessee sun.

We walk in humbled silence,
upward past sweet birch and
mimosa, patiently awaiting
that first delicious cascade
of fleeing water.

One last bend along a narrow,
entombed artery, and we stand
on the rocky crown, softly embracing

the cavernous mosaic

of heaven and earth.

Breathing in the fragrance of rushing
water that dies proudly on the rocks
below, he reaches for me, smiling broadly
in the fingers of sunlight
that dance at our feet.