We walk on bedrock
up a gorge in Ithaca
to the waterfall.
The hard surface
in the pattern
of a running creek.

At the waterfall’s base,
an open clearing spreads
like a stone cathedral
where crystal tendrils
cascade in a drumroll.

Water carved rocks,
flat, rounded, all different sizes,
lay scattered around the floor.
Visitors collect & stack them,
>balance flat rock on flat rock
in mounds and cairns.

Sentinel towers stand
in sun, rain and snow.
Shadows stippling the gorge
wait for the next flood.

Ingrid Bruck lives in Amish country, a landscape that inhabits her poetry. She enjoys writing haiku forms and short poems. A non-fiction editor for Between These Shores, she also produces a monthly BTS column called “Pearl Diving”with online writer resources. Current work appears in VerseVirtual, Poetry Hall  and Spillwords. Poetry website: http://www.ingridbruck.com