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Sonnets From Other Lives: Lily

An icy river tumbling through granite
boulders—roaring, foaming as it rushes
by. The snow splashed peaks where it began its
seaward trek glare in the sun & brush
passing cloud tendrils like threads of hair.
Out of the river’s white noise she can hear
what could be voices in the mix. She stares
into the noise--eyes closed—so that her ears
might reach into the wall of rushing sounds.
What are they saying? She has a perverse
wish that in these sonic overtones she’s found
some hidden mystery of the universe.
But concentration kills this fantasy. Aloud:
It’s like I'm making animals out of clouds.