Reflections by the Waterfall

Like a picture window into the heavens
  the trees frame the sky
    jutting branches are smoother somehow
      gently inserting into the blue white wispiness

The morning ground is cold as I lie
  looking upward
    cold yet soothing
      like the freshness of a new lover

Waking to the incessant cascading
  tumbling
    over
      rocks
reaching like webbed fingers into a clear pool

Her leg is poised over the water
  dangling
  absorbed in the poetry around her
She is reflected in wavy semblance
  in shimmering clarity
    glisteningly open
    achingly inviting

This is my garden of creative delight
   where sensual intercourse is perfect and random
There is no need to prune
There is no overgrowth
There are no weeds

by Larry Harpel