If I Were a Poet

I came to the river to see myself.

A tree leans over and looks at itself too.

Each leaf on that tree has more stories than I will ever have time to read.

Locust in the tree starts to buzz his summer song.

Songs of birds, birds of many nations, gather.

A mother bird flies over, casting a small shadow on me.

I reach up toward the sky but cannot touch it.

Leaning over, I touch the water, and it touches me.

I came to the river and saw the world.