If I could see you, without the drape and fall of preconception, without my drop of self splattering its contents in every corner. If I could see you, without pleading, without needing the universe to answer with something other than another question or suggestion of eternity. If I could see you, in the obvious, painful and beautiful transience of phases, and the roaring silence that sings praises. If I could see you, if that happened, inside a waterfall, it might look like this.