High Falls | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram
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High Falls 

Like hot wires thrust through the snow,

the magenta bush of stems splinters the air

beside the waterfall. The current, in its green

tailcoat, could sweep a body away.

The wet rocks are gems, translucent joints

of bone and cartilage, and planets.

Berries cling onto their brambles like drops

of blood, drawing confused mosquitoes

close. The hungry insects suckle the carmine

berries, but drown in their cups of water.

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