Typhoon at Taroko Gorge
Hualien, Taiwan, 2016 Carved out of marble, named for an indigenous tribe,
its constant torrents of waterfalls and rivers
makes the gorge feel alive. Once, together we hiked its trails
along the edge of canyons, sloshed through dark sodden tunnels,
craned our necks to see high slender cataracts, strained to look
far below to great gray cascades of rock and silt
carrying sediment to the water’s hungry mouths.
Now I look down to where Typhoon, god of the winds, boiled
a toxic brew of warm and humid sea, the right blend to force
air into spiraling gyres and raging rain and wind
ripping boulders down rock-edged ravines, gulping
chunks of roads and tunnels and spewing them into deep caverns.
Taroko’s wounds were mending, mine still raw and deep.
Hualien, Taiwan, 2016 Carved out of marble, named for an indigenous tribe,
its constant torrents of waterfalls and rivers
makes the gorge feel alive. Once, together we hiked its trails
along the edge of canyons, sloshed through dark sodden tunnels,
craned our necks to see high slender cataracts, strained to look
far below to great gray cascades of rock and silt
carrying sediment to the water’s hungry mouths.
Now I look down to where Typhoon, god of the winds, boiled
a toxic brew of warm and humid sea, the right blend to force
air into spiraling gyres and raging rain and wind
ripping boulders down rock-edged ravines, gulping
chunks of roads and tunnels and spewing them into deep caverns.
Taroko’s wounds were mending, mine still raw and deep.