My view is straight but hopeful
that no other had ventured this far,
gone down the narrow trails
and found wide escapes
The blue glides down a deep fall,
watching it clash into soft mossy rock—
a force of echoed
waters,
in a violent rapture
of thunder and wind
dispersed white mist
creates houses of colors,
disappearing air
that the sun molds
The distant eyes of a girl,
canoeing onward
upon frothy waves
If she made the passage,
the gulls would greet her ears,
heavy murmurs
of life she’d gone through
Portrait of June 