Poem of Weekend

Chagrin Falls

We visit the falls after picking our apples.

Sunny chilled day just on the edge of autumn.

The viewing deck at the bottom is packed with people:

Families and couples taking photos,

Children scrambling from stone to stone,

Some venturing onto thick fallen logs

That jut into the receiving pool.

The water thunders over the edge and

Splays in intricate patterns like lace

But my focus is on the stone face

Behind the meshed sheets of water.

Darkened damp rock, tufts of moss and grass

Sprouting from crevices and narrow ledges

There’s where I would go.

Hidden by transient cloaks of lucidity---

Not invisible, more unseen.

The roar and pomp of a thunder

That’s never really there.

It’s all just a swiftly moving pretension.

I am like anyone who hides;

Patiently hoping to be found

By the one who knows how to pay attention.

9/30/18