She knew a man
who touched in dreams
the veil of death. Delicate
fingers of a lover. A mind
born quick to dust. How he came
to call it a waterfall

Her children, recent travelers
through the gossamer mist, tested
the surface with a stick. Wondered
if the world was strong enough
to hold them. Remembered
only that they’d wished for light
Light appeared and there was skin
to mark the boundaries of heaven.

She only knew to name it nothing. Chase
the language. Lack the word
Let the label be living