Sturgeon River Gorge

The slow grind
Of wood and stone and water,
Rendered in time-lapse,
Would create a roar
Whose vibrations, rumbling
In the patient medium
Of Time,
Would never touch my ears
But all the same
Would shake my bones
To dust.

I live and die in the spaces
Between these words; existing inside
An Utterance,
A Divine proclamation
That none will ever hear.
All the same, though, I know that
This Gorge
Is truly the mouth of the Gods,
And my gods,
How that mouth
Speaks.