How High? (How High?)

There's been something brisk

about this summer--- and the chill has called me,

asking: why didn't I

go to the waterfall even once this season? When did I

become

so afraid of the cold and running water?

Is the water cold? I used to think

about sleeping in the crescent patch of a river, a moment

under

spring, soothed to death by slowness and cold, could

you, tell me, is the water--- ?

Why didn't everything I ever wanted to happen happen?

I'd given up so many of chances for you, but I think

sleep carried me through something old, and I don't

think the water's even

that cold today, so why didn't go to the waterfall even

once this season?

Was there not a precipice, not a place to fall back

into sleep like the careful would have it? Why didn't I

get everything I'd ever wanted? everything I'd ever

wanted Does this mean it's over? River crested patch of

moment,

pooled plunge crescent I've waited

long enough--- is the water cold? Does this mean

it's over? Why didn't I go to the waterfall even once this

season?

When did I become so afraid

of the cold and running water?