I dream of seeing the ice flows

of Niagara once more,

of seeing the reflection

of a youth long since departed

and the memory of a Wendy Burger,

wrapped against the cold wind

blowing down and across the chasm

of a separated land mass

and different train of thought.

 

I long to hear

the continuous sound

of nuclear explosive water

crashing eternally against

the rocks shaped by Time

below and the droplets of water,

rising off the pounding foam

and landing with daring precision

in the several cups of coffee

and the day of election

fervour just across the bridgeable gulf

whilst wishing there was a straight

blood driven Whisky in my hand.

 

The Fall of Niagara, the sign

above my grandfather’s door,

wooden panelled,

engraved with the legend

ADANAC

in a black soot rift,

an abyss in my heart

that keeps growing

as I imagine

his loss,

his teachings

and the most

beautifully natural

cascade of force

in the world.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016