If I Were a Poet

We journeyed to the springs of the sea
and walked in the recesses of the deep.
We saw the gates of death
and comprehended the vastness of the earth,
and yet, somehow,
we know nothing

about where beauty comes from
or where it is going—
why it captures some and takes them away,
while others cannot hear it call.

People have spent lifetimes
studying the galaxies.
My galaxy is my back yard:
a tree that gives lemons,
a bird that sings on the neighbor’s roof.
They are enough
to teach me a new philosophy
every morning.