YOUTH SINGS

From tallest crag I yearn to be falling,

a torrent fast flowing, a foaming dissent,

to spritz to the heavens, to lurch into falling,

the song of the mountains in lowland descent:

into a thousand wild droplets to scatter,

a rainbow in each, hope for making life matter,

love and dissent, love and dissent.

Through slim young birches the rocks I’d etch into,

roots that incise, not to fall, to withstand,

a root and a tusk for the rock wall to splinter,

to yield to the sun with each leaf raising hands:

each leaf a bugle for rousing the yawning,

the path to the sun, to the islet bright dawning,

building with branches, tearing with fangs…