Ben Claytor ‘13
The view.
“A kid fell and died here once,”
one of us says
“Yea,”
the other replies
We gaze
the death fall is no longer
the focus
instead, is the island
speckled lake
coolly rippling with the wind
we are unaware of any other
world, nothing exists,
but my sister, the death fall,
and the soft mountains with
a blue fallen lake among them,
not even the camera taking
the picture
exists