Submitted by Ken Gierke
Wait for the brink of the falls to touch the roiling waters at its base,
or the maple to bend its branches to kiss the leaves lying at its feet.
One drop will follow another, and the precipice remain.
New buds will open, and the tree stand tall.
But autumn leaves will crest those falls, kiss the waters waiting below.
I will breathe the mist hanging motionless.
The moment will end.
My life will continue,
each moment on the cusp.
About the Poet
Ken Gierke started writing poetry in his forties, but found new focus when he retired. It also gave him new perspectives, which come out in his poetry, primarily in free verse and haiku. His work has appeared at Ekphrastic Review and Tuck Magazine. You can find his website here.