Roaring cataclysmic precipice
individual drops, making music,
like fingers on piano keys,
a gushing concerto.

The mist blows upon the breeze,
soaking everything downwind,
more dripping to be heard,
accompaniment to the liquid ivories.

Gurgling singing,
from smaller streams,
cascading down
granite choir pits.

I'm the conductor
mental baton directing
orchestral parts,
as I sit along side.