How We Will Walk Through the Extremely Green

We might press through fronds, find the viridescent pool
stop there to gaze up from the body murky with mud
leaf, and algae to the turbulent head of white hair 

caught facing away from us. We might crawl up steep
arms to the cliff shoulders where trees lean stiff, stark.
Mind the edge, who’s to blame, the strong urge to plunge

into water to start over broken again. Or, I believe,
the long way around, then over to the half-hidden
wooden bridge we see above frowning like the soul’s

arch. Overcome with cascade, mist, and dapple, we will
close our eyes to the falls, reassure each other over roar
we are not one irredeemable slide away from turning, too.

Richard Leis