by Zack Mintz
Our house by the waterfall was
the dream we rebuilt, and we shared the lines in the ceilings, these wonderful feelings the kind you can’t fathom
to be there.
When your breath hit the windows
it sauntered and mellowed
it had nowhere to go
but the rafters above. It clung to them dearly
like pearls on necks dreary
or diamonds strung zig-zagged
across streams that flow bleary.
These storms we kept
the times the creeks wept
they bind us to earth,
the places leaves slept.
The mystical whirling
the drops’ slated swirling
Though I stand vigorous and tall
I haven’t forgotten it all.
*inspired by “our house by the waterfall” by Dahm.
Future Histories 