If I Were a Poet

I walked slowly downstream
to see if I could find
the child who named all the trees
that grew on the hill behind his house.

I sat on a rock and listened, trying to hear
how he cried when the leaves turned yellow
beside the road just paved.

I dipped my foot into the water, wanting to feel,
but I felt nothing.
There was no one there.

So I hurried back home,
angry that I’d wasted the afternoon.