The Stream

Deftly the water spills

down through the deep-cleft hills

and in its smooth release

moves, yet is at peace.

Image of calm desire,

I'll try not to admire

perversity that calls

men to the roaring falls,

where earth seems to give way

and the stream speeds in spray,

broken, and below knocks

its heart out on the rocks.

Richard Moore

From The Naked Scarecrow, New Odyssey
Press, © 2000.  Originally printed in
The Formalist.  Reprinted by permission
of the author.