Irregular at first, a few rocks dislodge 
and staccato down the slope of scree
across the lake, until the whole friable face
sags in a squashed rhombus

then blasts and buries the shoreline baluster boulders
all the way to their boulder shoulders, baby—

after which a trapezoidal cloud of dust rises
and drifts limp as a severed blossom

until silence returns, and a breeze,
followed by the chop of newly hewn waves, 
which roll across the surface to lap exuberant
and washed of all dust at our feet.