Above the Capilano

What was it that made me suddenly think I could fly?—Swan
dive into the river of mist rushing soundless through the canopy,
condensing to crystal beads pendant on the needle-tipped leaves
of the towering firs, sentinels of the Pacific Northwest rainforest
that reared all around me, raking water out of the fog to replenish
their roots far, far below, where the bear and the pine marten walk

yet still far above the deep sounding gorge of the Capilano
River, above the cliffs that embrace the white surge of the Capilano—

what left me breath-taken with delight on the high catwalk
wasn’t the limitless abundance of water, river replenished
by snow on distant mountains, nor the splendor of rainforest
whispering to my heart stay, stay, never leave here, never leave—
Thunder shaking the woods, scattering drops from green canopy
like a storm on the river, unfolding, the broad white wings of a swan.

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