All night the sound had / come back again,
and again falls / this quiet, persistent rain.

This morning, sprawled on ground that lifted
these mountains, a sign post, splintered, lies
in the mud. The path is concealed and silent
when the sky roars down and the river rises.

There is no higher god than, "the stream
of Ouranos, the high heaven itself."

For millions of years, the same question:

Did the universe begin
where the river began?