Hearing

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Back when it took all day to come up
from the curving broad ponds on the plains
where the green-winged jaçanas ran on the lily pads

easing past tracks at the mouths of gorges
crossing villages silted in hollows
in the foothills
each with its lime-washed church by the baked square 
of red earth and its
talkers eating fruit under trees

turning a corner and catching
sight at last of inky forests far above
steep as faces
with the clouds stroking them and the glimmering 
airy valleys opening out of them

waterfalls still roared from the folds 
of the mountain
white and thundering and spray drifted 
around us swirling into the broad leaves 
and the waiting boughs

once I took a tin cup and climbed
the sluiced rocks and mossy branches beside 
one of the high falls
looking up step by step into
the green sky from which rain was falling
when I looked back from a ledge there were only 
dripping leaves below me
and flowers

beside me the hissing
cataract plunged into the trees
holding on I moved closer
left foot on a rock in the water
right foot on a rock in deeper water 
at the edge of the fall
then from under the weight of my right foot 
came a voice like a small bell singing 
over and over one clear treble 
syllable

I could feel it move
I could feel it ring in my foot in my skin 
everywhere
in my ears in my hair
I could feel it in my tongue and in the hand 
holding the cup
as long as I stood there it went on
without changing

when I moved the cup
still it went on
when I filled the cup
in the falling column
still it went on
when I drank it rang in my eyes
through the thunder curtain

when I filled the cup again 
when I raised my foot 
still it went on
and all the way down 
from wet rock to wet rock 
green branch to green branch
it came with me

until I stood
looking up and we drank
the light water
and when we went on we could
still hear the sound
as far as the next turn on the way over

© William Stanley Merwin