Slow Smoke/Cascades of Gros Ventres

by Lew Sarett

CASCADES OF GROS VENTRES

Over the rim of the glacier,Down dusk of the canyon-wall,Like a river of sliding moonlight,Tumbled the waterfall.

The stream of torrential moonlightCascaded down the blue,Into a pool of moonlightAmong the sable yew.

Hovering above the eddies,The fragile-pinioned foam,Like swarms of silver millers,Went fluttering up the gloam;

Only to perish, broken,Shattered upon a gustBy the ponderous white of moonlightInto a silver dust.