A glimpse of the Divine

I'm still rough around

The edges

Full of sharp corners, grit and

uneven surfaces.

Envious of the smooth stones

Caressed by the cold water rushing

Across them-

The consistency of attention;

A committed love story,

So unlike my own.

What happens to the waterfall

When the waters run dry?

Does it also stand

Forgotten,

Longing for the once lush

Waters?

Or does it adapt, morph to

Be unlike itself. With only an

Echo of a memory of those days;

When the dance of two souls

Merged, for a brief moment in

The span of time- a glimpse of the

Divine.