The river fusses in a chasm,
frets at even rounded rocks,
laments its tributary role.

The waterfall, in cold pursuit
of an impossible perfection,
hones its chisel on a slab of stone.

The wind is almost out of breath.
It fidgets in a thorn bush,
fumbles its resuscitation of an elm.

The mountain, ragged tooth
still rooted in the jawbone of a deer,
grinds its cusp against an emptiness.