YESTERYEAR HAD THAT EFFECT
Just going there once meant nothing -
there was a fierce wind over the cliff
and it blew things down to the rocks far below.
That's where the river ran through - dark like
blue ink - winding its way past boulders and trees.
Just outside the horizon line a train crawled by
and the distant bridge could be seen.
Indian Head Rock, the Face, whatever they called
it never really stuck. It was just a place high atop
these Palisades. A June day revel in the wide-open
sunlight. A bright Fall morning with shadows
draping the landings. Stone pediments, old
foundations. Bricks and mortar from days long
gone. It was all over, in its own way, in a flash.
A distinctive piece of time, a spot on an
enigmatic calendar of old.
Just going there once meant nothing -
there was a fierce wind over the cliff
and it blew things down to the rocks far below.
That's where the river ran through - dark like
blue ink - winding its way past boulders and trees.
Just outside the horizon line a train crawled by
and the distant bridge could be seen.
Indian Head Rock, the Face, whatever they called
it never really stuck. It was just a place high atop
these Palisades. A June day revel in the wide-open
sunlight. A bright Fall morning with shadows
draping the landings. Stone pediments, old
foundations. Bricks and mortar from days long
gone. It was all over, in its own way, in a flash.
A distinctive piece of time, a spot on an
enigmatic calendar of old.
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